Wanna Be Yours
by moxbatch
Summary: abandoned MPREG a/u with age diff (older!Kurt)
1. Prologue

**Media**: Fic

**Title**: Wanna Be Yours

**Rating**: M

**Pairings**: Kurt/Blaine

**Spoilers**: None

**Warnings**: Age difference (Kurt's 30 - Blaine's at the end of his junior year at NYADA), mpreg

**Word Count**: Prologue — ~4.1k

**Summary**: A/U MPREG with age diff (older!Kurt), prologue excerpt — "Oh, no he didn't! He did, he must have. The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together for Kitty. Kurt had slept with his best friend's TA."

**Author's Note(/an additional warning)**: Prologue is in Kitty's POV, then it each chapter goes back and forth between Kurt and Blaine. This has been my project while on medical leave for surgery b/c who doesn't want to write mpreg while they're high on a narcotic (this is a legit mess, oops).

**[:::][:::][:::]**

**Prologue**

**[:::][:::][:::]**

Behold, the final straw: a microwavable bowl of Chef Boyardee beef ravioli. Also known as, 'The inevitable proof that Kitty's interim boss was a drug addict stuck in a downward spiral of heavily processed food despair.' Too far gone in a moment of curiosity, Kitty eyed what else was in Kurt Hummel's reusable grocery bag. Hidden under a crumbled Pop-Tarts wrapper and an opened bag of Sour Patch Kids, she spotted two bottles of sparkling lemon water. She winced at the second container of supposed 'ravioli' winking obnoxiously at her from between prepackaged diced watermelon and a box of frosted sugar cookies. Kitty swore up and down that Kurt's sudden weird behavior and his even weirder eating habits had to be related to drugs, absolutely! _Had_ to be. Maybe? Drugs certainly... possibly explained his frequent restroom use, at least.

Kurt's usual snippy attitude had taken a quiet, erratic turn about two Saturdays ago. Kitty had barely raised an eyebrow when she'd come in early that morning to open the shoppe and found Kurt in the middle of some serious rearranging. It hadn't stopped at shelves and clothing racks having been dragged from one side of the store to the other; Kurt had even stripped the dressing room of its zebra print décor. Despite his insistence, Kitty hadn't believed he'd only gotten there "a little while" before her. She'd just figured he had finally decided to rightfully act out against Sugar Motta for abandoning them. Sugar had waved a fat check in front of Kurt's face and asked him sweetly to manage her daddy-bought boutique for a 'few weeks' while she traveled abroad with her new Irish beau. Eight hellish months later, she barely checked in anymore.

Kitty didn't know much about Kurt that she'd learned by working beside him, aside from his annoying obsession with literally anything of a light blue hue (like whatev at 'because it's the color of clear skies, Kitty'). She had actually gotten most of the dirt on him from her boyfriend, who happened to be a friend of a friend of Kurt's. Kitty had already known he was an actor or maybe _had been_ an actor because she'd heard he was on a "forced" indefinite break from acting after an "injury." Yeah, Kitty still wasn't sure what to make of the air quotes. Kurt only had a few roles under his belt, but every one of them was deemed 'critically acclaimed' by the NYADA dweebs who constantly stopped in to watch a once-praised alumni flounder in retail. No wonder Kurt was a cynical mess. Apparently right before his career went belly-up, Kurt's father had passed away only weeks after Kurt's longtime boyfriend had broken up with him. No wonder Kurt had _turned to drugs_.

"What are you doing?" Ah, speak of the devil. Kurt's sharp tone hardly derailed Kitty from her nosy venture into his office.

_Praying for you_, she thought as she took a handful of candy. She twirled around to face him, a wide smile masking her concern. Thanks to Sugar's flakiness, Kitty's job paid too well for her to lose it anytime soon. She hoped Kurt could keep his addiction under control. "What's with all the munchies?"

An uneasiness washed over Kurt's face. He lowered his gaze, his mouth set into a tight line. "Shouldn't you be manning the register?"

She rested her other hand on her hip, pausing with her chin up as she brushed past him. "I prefer 'womaning the register,' thank you." Kitty's eyes trailed down his body, narrowed with suspicion. He was comfortably clad in a thick knee-length sweater over a button-front shirt and slacks. She nodded knowingly. Kurt _had_ to be hiding something under all those ridiculous layers. "Are you okay?"

"Ex—excuse me?" Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, oddly defensive of her totally innocent inquiry. "I'm fine," he stated hastily. He looked off to the side. "Why?"

"No reason. You just look a little pale... _er_ than usual." She squinted, her lips twitching in a poor attempt not to smirk. "Maybe it's the lighting."

Kurt agreed much too quickly, blinking hard enough for it to seem as if he had flinched. "It's the lighting."

She drew out a soft, "Okay." Her back now turned to him, Kitty exhaled a quiet laugh. Uh-huh, the lighting. Sure. She stole one more glance at Kurt once she neared the doorway. She caught his slight grimace and the way his hand shakily patted down the front of his sweater. Head bowed, Kurt gently pushed the door closed after her.

Kitty walked on her toes in long, graceful strides. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail, a bobby pin sticking out of her mouth. She checked to make sure the storefront was still empty before she darted off to scope out the restroom Kurt had just been in. She rubbed thoughtfully at her chin, unsure about what the heck she was looking for exactly. White powder residue, a spoon, a syringe, _what_? Oh, Kitty. She rolled her eyes, ready to exit the small room when she noticed a pink tablet on the tiled floor. She picked it up and frowned, wholly unimpressed. It was clearly marked TUMS, a boring antacid. She washed her hands and left. Kitty yawned and went back to trying to untangle a ball of knotted necklaces.

Eventually, Kitty decided to retire her unfounded accusation as she sat there and thought about the preposterous idea that Kurt was a drug addict. _Don't get involved_, she told herself. Even if she had caught him in the act of 'lighting up,' she wouldn't know what to do. In the time she's worked with him, Kitty had only been unfortunate enough to meet one of his friends, Rachel. Possibly his only friend, even. Rachel was a vocal instructor at NYADA and visited him at the shoppe a lot. _A way_ lot; Rachel was determined to liven Kurt up and had recently thrown him a big birthday bash. Kitty had attended on the arm of her boyfriend and she'd caught maybe two glimpses of Kurt the entire night. The birthday boy had been in hiding at his own party. None of his guests had seemed to notice or care about that little fact. She wondered how many people there had known him personally.

Three days later, they shared yet another awkward moment when Kitty barged into Kurt's office without knocking. She had a customer who demanded to speak with the store manager because Kitty had kindly told her to "get real" for asking if they had a price matching policy (and the woman had a freakin' eBay listing brought up on her smartphone). Kitty studied her fingernails instead of the tell-tale streaks of wetness on Kurt's cheeks as she dully explained the situation to him. He had been clutching his iPhone to his chest in a way that reminded Kitty of someone who had received bad news... and had to act it out dramatically in an improvised skit. She wondered if his dealer had cut him off or something. Listening to his uneven breathing, she couldn't look Kurt in the eye as he replied to her hesitant inquiry of if he were "okay" by mumbling about how he had lost the cap to a new bottle of very expensive lotion. Something was definitely wrong if that was the best excuse he could come up with. Kitty asked if he wanted her to tell the customer he'd be out shortly.

"No. Deal with it."

"But—"

His shoulders shook. "_Deal with it_, Kitty."

She perked up, saluting Kurt and smiling wickedly from the unspoken permission she truly believed he had granted her. By any means, deal with it. Oh, she would. Would she ever. "You got it."

Kitty handled the disgruntled woman with complete professionalism. Just kidding, she berated the customer and reduced her to tears. Just kidding _again_, she politely asked for her to get lost and wrote down Sugar's personal cellphone number on the back of a business card. "If you get a hold of her, could you please remind her that this place still exists?" Kitty waited until the psycho lady was gone before she marveled at her self-restraint. She deserved a raise for that. "Look," she hollered to Kurt as he hurried out of his office. She held up her hands. "No bloodshed!"

He wasn't amused, not even a little bit. Kurt told her he needed to take off for the day.

"Everything alright?" Kitty asked, not sure why she asked a question she knew wasn't going to receive a real answer.

Even so, her stomach clenched at Kurt's high-pitched scoff. She crinkled her nose, annoyed and disgusted. He was probably leaving to get his next fix.

Sometime that night, Kitty received a long text message from Kurt with next week's schedule. There was also a brief mention of how he was "going out of state for a few days" (oh sweet baby Jesus, was he pulling a Sugar on her?) and gave her the OK to close the store if anyone called off and there wasn't any coverage. He had honestly stopped caring and she couldn't blame him. Kitty didn't think much of it until Rachel came into the store the following day to see Kurt and had no idea he'd taken off. She panicked, asking the same questions over and over again. She had even demanded to see Kurt's message to Kitty. Maybe she was imagining it in Rachel's overreaction, but Kurt's friend seemed really... scared about him, for him. Although Rachel eventually got a hold of him and calmed down considerably once she chewed him out, Kitty was left with an uneasy feeling she couldn't shake off.

Kurt returned on a sunny Friday morning after four days away from the boutique. The lights were already on when Kitty arrived, an iced latte in her hand. Kurt sat at a table in the back, a mess of paint color swatches spread out in front of him. He smiled at her in greeting, a _real_ smile. Honestly, she had once thought a smile like that would've put cracks in his porcelain face. Kurt then asked for her opinion regarding a new color scheme for _his_ shoppe and Kitty was absolutely floored... as she tried to see if his pupils were dilated. He _must have_ been high to have thought that hippopotamus brooch was a good look. Huh. Kitty began to wonder if she was being a tad bit judgmental towards Kurt.

Nah.

"There's something—" Kitty took a long sip of her caffeinated beverage, wishing she'd asked for an extra shot of espresso. "There's something different about you," she admitted in a carefully even tone that absolutely couldn't confess _I'm on to you_. His fresh face and relaxed body language didn't fool her, no sir.

Kurt responded to Kitty with a nonchalant shrug. "Is there?" He glanced down for a moment too long, his fingertips brushing across a paint sample. A light blue one. Oh, hell no. "I've probably gained about five hundred pounds from stress-eating binges."

Kitty flattened the tip of her straw between her teeth. "That's not it."

"Hmm, okay. You know what? This carpet needs to go, too." Kitty stopped short beside Kurt and leaned in close to peer down at him. He waved a disapproving finger, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, don't do that."

"Why—"

"_Why_ don't you go put on a pot of coffee?"

Kitty's upper lip curled a little at the side as she rose her cup up.

"I don't believe I said anything about it being for you." He frowned at her, a _real_ frown she was beyond used to and had grown almost but not quite fond of. "Move along, dear."

"Hummel, you are sizzlin' today." Kitty bit down on her straw harder, trying hard not to give him any kind of expression. She feigned indifference like a _queen_, y'all. "Did you... _score_?"

Well, okay then. That's all it took for Kurt's entire face to just heat up. He sputtered, overly flustered in a way that would've made her laugh if it didn't _maybe_ confirm her suspicions. A blush crept up from his neck to his ears, bright red and splotchy. "Coffee, Kitty."

Oh my god, she mouthed as she slowly turned away. Shaking her head, Kitty whipped back around. "How can you—?" Kurt stared at her with such big, innocent eyes. It mostly frustrated her. "It's cute," she said. "It's cute that you think you can keep secrets from me."

Kurt's eyelids fluttered as he let out a sharp exhale. He swallowed thickly, wetting his lips. "It's obvious, then?"

She gasped, "Yes." Kitty hadn't expected him to say that. She would rather him come clean to a friend or just someone who wasn't her.

"What can I say?" He shrugged, laughing nervously. At least he had the decency to look as uncomfortable as she felt. "'Oops.'"

Kitty couldn't help but to pull an enraged face at his dumb _oops_. "Kurt, this is a big deal!"

"It is," he agreed slowly. Kurt cleared his throat, taken back by her outburst. "It's also none of your business."

"Does Rachel know?" she asked, talking over him. Kurt pushed at the colorful clutter on the table, his palms pressed down.

"None of your business," he repeated in a much louder voice.

"You need help with—"

Kurt brought a hand up to cover it over his mouth. "_You need_ to leave. Goodbye." She stood there, frozen in disbelief. "Goodbye, Kitty."

Kitty crossed her arms over her chest. "No." The last thing she needed to do was leave this guy alone. She would only rather do anything else than stay at work and babysit her boss. Ugh, why did she have to be burdened with such a caring soul? "I'm not going anywhere. This isn't _your_ store. Only Sugar can fire me."

Kurt wouldn't even look at her now. "Then go—go get started on inventory."

Unsurprisingly, they barely spoke with each other for the rest of the day. Kitty bared her teeth through a long, awkward shift. It was about fifteen minutes until closing time when the night _really_ took a turn for the worst. The door to the boutique opened wide and a group of guys filed in quickly.

Kurt looked up from counting the cash in the register. "Oh, hello. Are we getting robbed?"

Kitty wrinkled her nose. She groaned an _oh no_ as the young men divided themselves into two lines and then each one stepped aside as a guy in yellow pants charged through them. He marched straight for where she stood with Kurt, her eyes flitting over to the nearby fire extinguisher. Pull, aim, squeeze, sweep [that creep off his feet]. Then—then they all opened their mouths and the music started.

_Give me all, give me all, give me all your attention, baby_

Halfway through the belted-out pop song, Kitty (rubbed super hard at her throbbing temples and) finally recognized the lead singer as Rachel Berry's slave-boy, although perhaps the correct term was TA. She had seen him following Rachel around on occasion; he'd always stayed behind her, never beside. Kitty had noticed how Rachel would always snap her fingers at Blaine, like, a way lot and how she had treated him more like a personal assistant(/slave-boy, you see). He had patience Kitty would kill for, especially right now.

Kitty started feeling somewhat nauseous from the sugary performance and cast a curious glance in Kurt's direction only to find him shimmying his shoulders and humming along to the Bruno Mars song and _what the heck_? Her mouth fell open at the hopeful gleam in Blaine's doe eyes, the oh so very sparkly ones he couldn't keep off Kurt. She snorted 'cause the poor kid didn't stand a chance (and also because his eyebrows were practically twerking themselves off his forehead). She couldn't blame him for his crush. Kurt was totally a Disney prince, albeit a jaded one.

"You want to get the hose or should I?" she muttered to Kurt, grateful once they all shut up.

Kurt ignored her in favor of clapping. Enthusiastic clapping at that, yikes. Kitty blamed the drugs for his delusion. "Blaine, that was great. You... you guys sound great. Really great, _wow_. Rehearsing for a competition or—or?" Blaine's stoic backup crew had trickled quietly out of the store.

Blaine's eyes crinkled as he smiled proudly and stated, "Or." He took a deep breath, reaching across the counter for Kurt's hand. Kurt stepped back, wincing himself at the hurt expression that Blaine had tried to hide. "Kurt, please. I need you to know I—"

Kurt interrupted him by slamming the empty till down into the cash drawer. Kitty jumped at the noise, watching Kurt closely. "Outside," he squeaked. Her eyebrows rose. Kurt's feathers had definitely been ruffled. "You and I, Blaine, we should—_outside_, please. Okay?"

Kitty's smile brightened as Blaine's dimmed. "Okay," he repeated. He gave her a little wave and then looked down at his feet as he pushed his fists into the shallow pockets of his pants.

"Now, Kurt. You let him down easy, ya hear?" Kitty said to Kurt in a delighted _yeah, make him cry_ tone. What? Other people's misery gave her energy to live. It was probably why she flourished so well with Kurt. He always worked his shifts with her instead of Marley "for reasons," so she felt she was entitled to it. Although after the morning they'd had, she wouldn't be surprised if all that changed. Kurt shot her a weird look.

Kitty hopped up to sit on the counter. She kicked her feet out merrily, wishing for popcorn as she watched Kurt and Blaine through the storefront windows. Too bad she couldn't lipread... or even see their faces, damn. They sat together on a bench out there for only a few minutes before Kurt stood up abruptly. He tried to storm back inside the shop, but Blaine stopped him as he opened the door. She tipped her head to the side, hearing Blaine beg for Kurt to listen to him.

"I'm not that kind of guy, Kurt. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night."

Unfortunately for Kitty's eager ears, the door fell shut again and Kurt's heated reply was too muffled for her to catch. Still, she laughed. She actually cackled in surprise. Oh, no he didn't! He did, he must have. The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together for Kitty. Kurt had slept with his best friend's TA. That was why Blaine had been looking at Kurt with hungry hearts in his eyes. He'd gotten a taste of that dick and wanted more. Kitty hadn't pegged Kurt as desperate or at least that desperate. Without Blaine in sight, Kurt successfully re-entered the store this time. His hands moved up and down the vertical row of buttons on his cardigan, a nervous habit Kitty had picked up on suddenly—suddenly... No way.

Kitty choked on a laugh, her ballet flats slipping off her feet as she curled her toes. Kurt, he _had_ slept with Rachel's TA and now—_and now_?

"You're not on drugs! Hold up, Kurt. Don't you walk away from me." Kitty leaped for Kurt, her arm looping through his. He tried to pull away, grunting her name. "I can't believe this. You're _pregnant_."

What a fucking relief.

Kurt stopped moving in order to gape at her. "Drugs?" He demanded an explanation, confused and rightfully offended.

Wait a minute. She gazed down at his unremarkable midriff. "Pregnant?"

"You thought I was on _drugs_?"

Kitty mimicked his outraged hand-on-hip position. "You're _pregnant_?"

Kurt frowned, his mouth pinched tight. "I see we've reached a stalemate." He sighed wearily, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "Earlier, when you said I needed help... You meant I needed help with—?"

She supplied helpfully, "Your then-obvious drug addiction. Duh." She flashed him an _oops, my bad_ smile. "Seriously, though. Tell me I'm wrong, you slept with that? He's like half your age _and_ height."

"Stalemate," he reminded her. "Wait," he then sputtered. Kurt's speech quickened as he snapped, "How old do you think I am?"

Kitty was a hyperbolic genius and knew exactly how to piss Kurt off by the press of only one button. "Oh, come on. You're not a terrible looking guy. Have some standards."

"La, la, la." Kurt walked away from her, hands over his ears. Ever the mature one, that Kurt. She followed after him. "I can't hear you over the sounds of me not caring."

"Wait, _wait_. Is he even legal?" she teased. "Are you going to have to pay child support to _his_ parents? Kurt, please don't close the door. I'm not finished!" Hell, she had barely started. Kitty continued to call out to Kurt through his office door. "How drunk were you? Wait, wait, _wait_. _Were_ drugs involved?" Maybe she'd been right on the money all along.

The door creaked open a crack, if that. "You say nothing about this to anyone. If he—if he comes back, just don't. Please, Kitty? Stay out of this."

"He doesn't know? Are you not going to tell him? You're screwing with me, right? Right, Kurt?" Silence. Kitty scoffed, giving the doorknob a light slap. "Do you really want to turn your life into more of a soap opera? That's where you're headed." Still not a syllable uttered from Kurt. Kitty gave up, deciding to finish closing out the cash register. Hesitant footsteps eventually took her back to Kurt's office. She knocked gently, shrugging her jacket on. "I'm out of here. You want me to lock up?"

His kindly hollered response surprised her. "Hold on, I'll walk you to your stop." He appeared in front of her several minutes later, his Frye messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a blue scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. They made it outside until he sighed dramatically. "You're looking at me funny. Don't."

"You're awfully calm for a man facing an eighteen year sentence."

Kurt threw her off again by ducking his head and smiling. "I'd say it's more of a nine month sentence and then eighteen years of probation." He dragged his feet across the rough cement and nudged her with a sway of his hips. His face lit up as they walked under a streetlight, the definition of his cheekbones and the lines surrounding his crookedly quirked mouth more pronounced.

"Will you at least admit it? I will take your word for it, I solemnly swear." Kurt's chin rose, his eyes rolling up at the starless sky. "Or else I'm going to continue assuming you're a drug addict. Pick your poison, Hummel." She had faltered near the end, taken back slightly by the grim look on Kurt's face. Her pace slowed. Sickened by the apology ready to flow from her lips, a knot formed in her throat. Kitty thought about his last-minute "vacation" and how Kurt indirectly confessed he was going to tackle his unplanned pregnancy by himself. Kurt: alone and lonely, a single dad. "This _is_ a very big deal for you and I'm not making it any easier. What are you going to do?" It was hard trying to pry into someone's life while also attempting to sound sincerely sympathetic.

Kurt didn't miss a beat with, "I'm going to be a dad." He stopped walking and Kitty wondered why until she realized they had reached her bus stop. She was nearly blinded by the bus' headlights as it pulled in beside the curb. Perfect timing. "Good night, Kitty."

"'Night, Kurt and company."

Kurt took a backwards step, shaking his head at her as he hid a smile behind the back of his hand.

Once she was seated on the bus, Kitty fished her cellphone out from her purse. She bit her bottom lip as she scrolled through her and her boyfriend's text messages. Kitty smirked, immediately starting to type in the message field. She pressed the circular send button without any second thoughts.

To Artie: _omg guess what?_

**[:::][:::][:::]**

I do have a tumblr (allie-ballie), but idk yet if I'mma use it/post fic.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

**Media**: Fic

**Title**: Wanna Be Yours

**Rating**: M

**Pairings**: Kurt/Blaine

**Spoilers**: None

**Warnings**: Age difference, mpreg

**Word Count**: ~9.9k

**Author's Note(/an additional warning)**: (this is a legit mess, oops).

**[:::][:::][:::]**

**Chapter One **

**[:::][:::][:::]**

...Five days earlier...

Don't think about it, Kurt demanded of himself.

_Of course_ he thought about **it**.

More awake than he wanted to be, Kurt chortled hoarsely into the over-stuffed throw pillow he had wrapped in his arms. A soft, almost bittersweet ticking floated down from above the couch where a massive_ly ugly_ wall clock hung. The noise surrounded him, embracing Kurt tightly as if he were a dear old friend. However, he believed it to be mocking him as the too-steady ticks danced in rhythm with the throbbing headache he'd had since before he fled from New York. Annoyed and exhausted, he laughed again.

Stop thinking about it, he begged of himself.

_Of course_ Kurt didn't stop thinking about **it**.

He never thought he'd end up running away to Ohio. There he was, though; _here_ he was: camped out on his stepmother's floral sofa. Kurt flipped onto his back, elbowing a pillow aside as he sat up to pull his wrinkled cardigan off. He pressed his lips together, his fingertips tracing over the monogrammed _B_ on the front of the heavy sweater. He also never thought he would end up pregnant by his closest friend's teaching assistant. He let out another hollow chuckle. Perhaps it "amused" Kurt too much that the embryo inside of him had been conceived on a freakin' _fire escape_ during the night of his thirtieth birthday. Shuddering, his eyes slipped shut and he easily remembered the rough sounds of their skin rubbing together. _Blaine_.

Kurt clasped his hands over his mouth, his stomach rolling unpleasantly. He stood up and dizzily made a beeline for the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, his back pressed to the inside of it. His breathing hitched fitfully in his aching chest as he slid down to sit on the floor. Kurt blinked hard, letting the unshed tears know he was done fighting them. Come one, come all. He missed his dad and wished desperately Burt could be there to dish out much-needed fatherly advice and hear him out.

Maybe, a distant voice whispered harshly, it was for the best that Burt wasn't alive to see how weak and pathetic his son had gotten. What a shameful, crumpled mess he would have to step around.

"No," Kurt snapped out loud without meaning to. If only Burt were still around. He would never have let Kurt sink so low in the first place. "Stop," he muttered. Not this again, _please_.

He knew his cry face was godawful, but Kurt needed to let all the built-up frustration out of his system before he starting ripping at the seams once more. Although he'd only received official confirmation of his "condition" the other day, Kurt had had his suspicions for the past two whole weeks. If he'd known sooner, he _probably_ wouldn't have continued the random make-out sessions with Blaine in the back of Rachel's empty classroom. They were having fun, a lot of fun; no strings attached, of course. As if Blaine would really want to date some nobody who was eight years older than him and headed absolutely nowhere in life, anyway. Kurt blew out a sigh of defeat as he calmed down and wiped off his cheeks.

Why him and why _now_? Maybe a baby would've kept Adam from taking off. Enough of that, Kurt was finished pretending to live in his own little world where he was safe from death and heartbreak. All he'd done was trap himself under a blank of pain. He had kept it pulled over his head for too long and only managed to push his friends far away. Kurt was well aware if it weren't for her own failures keeping her tied down to a teaching position she didn't want, Rachel would have bolted on him already. Eventually, she'd rise above him and leave. Everyone in his life did, sooner or later. Great, now he was stuck in yet another pity party.

Kurt drew his fists away from his face. He studied his palms, recalling the warmth of Blaine's hand in his. Blaine had found him hiding on the fire scape and instead of ratting Kurt out to Rachel, he'd joined him. Kurt's face grew considerably more hot at the memory, his cheeks flushed an entire shade darker. What a night they'd had, even before the sex. Kurt couldn't remember what exactly had led him into Blaine's lap, aside from their heated kisses. They had been listening to each other complain and rant and then suddenly they'd stopped talking. Kurt shivered, gasping shakily as he crossed his arms over himself. His heart didn't hold any regrets from that night, even with their little reminder setting up camp inside of him.

They had options. Kurt had options, with or without Blaine. First of all, he had nixed adoption. He knew he couldn't carry the baby to term and then just hand him or her off to strangers. No doubt, he'd have a change of heart. It wouldn't be fair to that couple if he made a promise he knew he couldn't keep. Abortion had then weighed heavily on his mind for a while. He'd actually expected himself to wind up terminating the unexpected pregnancy. Again, why _now_? He could get rid of it, then he wouldn't have anything to worry about or anyone to care for. _But_.

Kurt wanted that. He wanted someone to care for, to love and hold; to be his. He had no one, but he could. Kurt could have this baby. That realization had been the sole reason for his last-minute decision to take off to Ohio. He needed time away from nosy friends and impossibly nosier co-workers and rude customers and crowded streets. Ohio would always be Ohio, but Carole was the only family he had left and she'd welcomed him with opened arms and hot tea. Comforted to the brink of tears and needing to say and hear it, he had immediately blurted out his news to her. His _good_ news.

The muscles in his thighs quivered as he rose slowly, his body utterly fatigued and aching in _such_ an unfamiliar way. He wasn't that far along and yet the pregnancy was already pretty rough on him. It had to be worth it. Kurt sniffed, pinching at the hem of his _MDNA_ t-shirt. He picked it up, rubbing his other hand gently across the soft skin around his belly button. Kurt's fingers curled into a C, the set of them stubbornly rigid and fiercely protective. It seemed like ages since Kurt had felt so _sure_ of something. _You're mine_.

[:::][:::][:::]

"You're gross. If you keep eating like that, I'm going to have to roll you in and out of here and you're going to have to give me a big, _fat_ raise." Kitty set down the label maker in which she had just placed new batteries, scoffing pointedly at the large bowl of buttery noodles in Kurt's lap. "Just because you're knocked up doesn't mean you get to eat anything and everything in sight, lard-o."

Kurt glared at her, pausing mid-chew of the cookie he had been nibbling on. What, the party tray of them he had brought in home were for the customers... too. "This isn't a pregnancy thing, it's a stress thing."

"Uh-huh, that's right." Her condescending tone only made Kurt want to shove a fistful of cookies down his throat (oh, and then possibly hers if there were any leftover). Kitty enunciated slowly, "Stress from your pregnancy."

Kurt threw her an exaggerated pout, opting to otherwise ignore her in favor of reaching for another cookie while spearing his fork through a greasy farfalle noodle. Forget her. He had to eat _now_, before the nausea kicked in again. He'd only been able to stomach half a banana all morning after throwing up the plain oatmeal he had forced down for breakfast.

He sprinkled more shredded parmesan onto his tasty lunch. Kurt took a big bite and smiled around the fork. Okay, perhaps it delighted him in the smallest degree to see how much he could disgust Kitty with his alarmingly clichéd pregnancy symptoms. Now that she knew, he was done hiding in his office. Looking down, Kurt guessed he could've not chosen a salad bowl for the pasta. "Want some?"

Unsurprising, she shook her head. "You're still gross," Kitty reminded him. She pressed buttons on the label printer, a red pen in her other hand. "You know what else is gross? Babies. Babies are—are you okay?"

Kurt had dropped his fork into the bowl. He sucked in a breath and then shakily let it out as he stuttered a, "No. I think I'm done."

"'Bout time." He cupped a hand over his mouth and the teasing smile Kitty beautifully wore faded right off her face in mere seconds. "Oh."

He stifled a pained gasp, the clenching feeling in his stomach worsening quickly. "Excusez-moi!"

Kurt scrambled into the restroom, the door clicking shut behind him. He held his breath in a desperate plea, back turned to the toilet.

Don't throw up, he chanted to himself.

_Of course_ he threw up.

Although nausea poked and prodded at him randomly throughout the day, Kurt didn't vomit often. Just at work, it seemed. Customers who would apparently bathe themselves in their favorite cologne or perfume triggered most of his episodes. Well, at least he finally lost the hankering he'd had for pasta. Thinking about the vegetarian lasagna he knew Rachel had made specially for their dinner date that evening, he choked out one more retch.

It took two attempts for him to find the energy to stand up. Lightheaded and white-knuckled, Kurt griped the sides of the sink. He wanted to hurry out and grab the travel-sized tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush out from the desk in his office. Instead, he lingered in front of the mirror across from him and warily studied his reflection. The oily texture of his skin despite his thorough twice-daily facial cleansing regime annoyed him. Kurt squinted and frowned, angling his head for better lighting. Had his _freckles_ gotten **darker**? Eh, Kurt's body had yet to impress him in the slightest. Double _eh_ at the constipation, bloating, and constant exhaustion.

_This better mean you're _thriving_ in there_.

He couldn't wait for his first ultrasound, an appointment that had yet to be scheduled because he still hadn't picked an OB. More than anything, Kurt needed to know how well the fetus was developing _down in there_. Anxiety had planted some disturbing nightmares in his head. The two specialists he'd already met with hadn't exactly 'wowed' Kurt. He didn't think his standards were too high considering the amount of trust he would have to place in this doctor. Kurt smiled, a small twitch of his lips. They. The amount of the trust _they_ would have to place in this doctor, it was a lot.

Kurt gargled with water from a filtered bottle, aware of the weak vibrations coming from the cellphone in his pants pocket. Heading out of the restroom, he yelled out for Kitty to _please_ throw out what was left of his lunch. "I don't suppose you know of a universal remote I could buy that'll fast-forward me about seven and a half..." All the air rushed out of his lungs at once. "Months," he finished weakly.

"Hello my fabulous Kurt." Rachel was all smiles as she twirled around a faceless mannequin, her long hair pulled to the side in a fishtail braid. She swiped the knitted bowler hat off its head and tried it on. Rachel cocked the rolled rim, winking at a slack-jawed Kurt. "What happens then?" she asked coolly, oblivious to his forcefully confused expression. "In seven or whatever months, what happens _then_?"

He replied quickly with, "Winter." A bubble of guilt swelled up in Kurt's chest. His mind raced madly, urging him repeatedly to just _tell her_ already. "Winter happens then. You know how much I love winter... Fashions." He couldn't let her in on the pregnancy, not if he wanted to keep it from Blaine. Intentionally or otherwise, she'd tattle on him somehow; Rachel and her big mouth would find a way. If he even were to find out, Blaine shouldn't hear it from her. Kurt winced under the weight of Rachel's abrupt, worried frown.

"Kurt, are you feeling okay? Your face is all—"

He huffed out an unconvincing laugh with his interrupted guess of, "Handsome?"

She uttered a soft, "Flushed." Rachel crowded him, even as Kurt tried to back away from her hand as it reached up to cop a feel of his face. "Oh, honey. You're warm."

"I'm always warm, Rachel. I have a heartbeat." Far behind Rachel's turned shoulder, Kitty held up two fingers from the other side of a clothes rack.

Rachel huffed, flustered. "Hot, then. You're hot, all hot and? And sweaty!"

Hold the fucking phone, Berry. Kurt stopped short of checking his underarms for sweat stains. "I am _not_—"

"You should rest, dear." She brushed a crumb off his shirt, her top teeth grazing over her glossy bottom lip. The wildly anxious energy pouring from her eyes betrayed her relaxed grin. The endearments had already clued Kurt in that something was _way_ off. "You should go home and rest, rest all night along. Forget about me, okay? Because you, you need your rest."

Kurt deemed himself too exhausted to play along with Rachel's madness. "Okay, what's going on? I'm—oh. _Oh_." He touched the tip of his index finger to his chin and faked a mighty pout. "You're canceling on me. That's what this is about."

Rachel either gasped or yawned, Kurt couldn't tell. "No, I am _not_... Okay, but it's for a really good reason." She jumped at him excitedly, grabbing at his upper arm with both of her small hands. "Kurt, I have an audition! I must prepare for it at once, I must be _amazing_."

He tutted, "Rachel Berry." Kurt smiled at her warmly. "You already are amazing."

She beamed brilliantly, nodding. "I just really hate my job. I need to get back in the spotlight, it's where I truly belong." Rachel leaned into him, sighing softly. "Don't you miss it?"

Kurt couldn't find any words for a honest response to Rachel's inquiry. He _had_ until recently, when his priorities had shifted pretty quickly in a short amount of time. Kurt hadn't thought about hopping back on that saddle in... well, only days. Weeks ago, he had been dreaming about and anticipating his return to theater. Kurt knew he would eventually find his way onto the stage again, maybe in another year... or two or _so_(? Kurt's head was congested with question marks). He wanted to fall into a less stressful and more stable career while he tried out the whole single parenting thing, which was why he had contacted Sugar with an ultimatum that'd doubled as a resignation. He'd reminded her of the increase in sales since he'd taken over and had changed most of her suppliers for less visually offensive inventory. Sugar had reached Kurt over the phone to ask if he'd like her to simply sign the boutique and its lease over to him because she now apparently hoped to open her own exotic zoo when she got back to the States. Since it hadn't seemed like a big deal to her, he'd said yes.

If Rachel got the role, though. _When_ Rachel got the role, though. "What about NYADA?" He assumed she'd take another sabbatical. Wanting a taste of something different, Rachel's last role had been in an independent film project and all of her screen time had ended up on the cutting room floor. Also, what about Blaine? It only took for a brief thought about Blaine for Kurt's stomach to swoop. _Knock it off_.

"Who cares about NYADA?" Pushing up to the tips of her toes, Rachel planted a loud kiss to his cheek. Kurt tried not to breathe out through his mouth, knowing he needed to freshen his breath. She asked him if he wouldn't mind re-scheduling their plans for another night. "You're not mad, are you?"

Shaking his head, Kurt smiled if only because Rachel was radiating with such infectious happiness. It was a good look on her, the sparkle in her eyes and the color in her cheeks. He hadn't seen her smile quite like that in a long time. He felt a pang of something, perhaps jealousy; however, it wasn't over her audition. Kurt reveled in her excitement. He wanted that, to bask in and gush over his own good news.

"What?" Rachel asked, curious and able to read Kurt better than he realized.

His voice cracked as he brushed the question off with, "Nothing." Kurt brought his hands together for a light clap. He let out an enthusiastic _yay_. Rachel needed this. "Congratulations."

She poked him in the side. "You're next."

"Oh, I'm certainly next."

Rachel squealed out a laugh, launching at Kurt for a hug. "I can't believe you're getting all teary-eyed for _me_."

Kurt's speechlessness had returned. He hadn't even noticed, although it explained his sudden case of sniffles.

Once Rachel had bounced out of the boutique with a handful of Kurt's cookies, Kitty came up behind Kurt. He'd grabbed a box cutter to open a new shipment of scarves.

"She's dense."

"Maybe you shouldn't make assumptions about people you hardly know... Oh, _wait_." It dumbfounded him that her (apparently troubled) mind had gone straight to drugs. What did that say about him? Not in any mood, Kurt brushed off the worry.

"I was right about you."

"You were _not_, you thought I was a drug addict."

"I knew something was up. At least _I _could tell." The indirect dig at Rachel only made Kurt frown. To be fair, he and Kitty saw way too much of each other; they were the fashion boutique's only full-time employees (and now, Kurt was only a few signatures away from being an employer... _her_ employer, hehe). Even before the blood work confirmation, Kurt had assumed from the start that Kitty would smell the fishiness in the air and come her own conclusions. He hadn't expected her to jump straight to drug theories. "You should _not_ tell her and then wait and see how long it takes her to notice all your baby fat. My guess is six weeks after you pop it out." Her hands gestured something Kurt often tried not to think about.

"'Baby fat,'" Kurt droned. "'Pop.'"

She narrowed her gaze at his personalized utility knife. "Don't point that at me. You're the one who humped the Baby Gap model." Kitty smirked up at him. "I spy with my little eye: a smile. Liked that one, did you?" He looked away from her, eyes sharply rolling upward. "Don't lie to me, Kurt. _Kurt_, don't lie to me." Her playful laugh and stern voice didn't go hand-in-hand. "I should probably thank you or whatever for taking one for the team."

"I'm not sure if I want to know what you're talking about."

"It's just, can you imagine if you'd been unlucky enough to knock _him_ up? Gag me to the heavens. He'd probably stop by here all the time, all loud and super fat while serenading your bleeding ears with overplayed Top 40 hits. Ew, and he totally seems like he'd be one of those pregnant people who paint their obnoxious roundness for Halloween and it sickens me to visualize him dressing it up as a disco ball because we both know he would in a fetal heartbeat."

Kurt's box cutter clattered to the floor.

"Oh," he gasped. "Oh, god."

A string of what ifs struck him hard, leaving Kurt without a breath left in his lungs. His heart galloping in his chest, Kurt choked on air as he struggled to inhale. He ducked his head and two two trembling hands darted up to his face, his fingers weirdly numb. It took him a moment to feel the weight of Kitty's arm around his shoulders. He couldn't remember sitting down on the stool Kitty must've dragged over. She was doing one helluva job keeping him upright.

"Wh—what's wrong?" Her panicked voice sounded distant. "Are you okay?"

He blinked once; a beat, then twice. "I, I?"

Lonely and bored, Kurt had pretty much accepted his pregnancy with a _sure,_ _why not?_ shrug once he'd quit hyperventilating and mulled over his choices. It'd been clear to him from the start that he didn't need to stick such a huge responsibility on Blaine when it was something Kurt could handle himself. Blaine was a great, _great_ guy. He had more energy and enthusiasm in one pinky than Kurt had in his whole body (especially _now_). Blaine didn't need to get tied down with a kid before he'd had a real chance to spread his wings and _live_.

Kurt's excuses were beginning to crumble.

Roles reversed, Kurt wouldn't want to be kept in the dark about Blaine's pregnancy. He would want to know and, without hesitation, he'd want to be a part of _their_ life. He'd had a pregnancy scare during freshman year in college and he'd been so scared and definitely not ready in any degree. Kurt focused on that dreadful feeling he'd once had, relating it to Blaine. Blaine absolutely did not need to know Kurt was carrying his child. It was for his own good, he really did deserve—_No_.

Blaine **deserved** the truth, **deserved** the choice of deciding if he wanted anything to do with Kurt and the baby.

Kurt just wasn't sure if he could handle the rejection. He'd rather not say anything and save himself from Blaine's reaction and, ultimately, his response.

Fight or flight, he wasn't sure. Kurt's mind, body, and heart were at war. He'd thought about fleeing while he had been in Ohio. He had mentioned it out loud to Carole, only half-joking about moving back to Ohio. He could pack up and leave before anyone could get any the wiser. _That's what's easy_, Carole had said to him. _But it's not what you want_. He'd thought she had been referring to him running away.

"You look sick." Kitty's voice thankfully interrupted his frantic, scattered thoughts. "Please don't barf on or around me."

Kurt sighed. "I thought I could do this," he admitted in a whisper.

"Pregnancy isn't easy when you're not doing it alone. You've got a long ways to go, it's normal and okay for you to panic." Kitty paused, her mouth pursed. "Every now and then. When you're not here. With me. Yeah, especially that last part."

He shook his head. Kitty couldn't understand this. She wasn't much older than Blaine and she had no idea about anything, really. They were naïve when it came to the fastballs life could throw at a person when they weren't looking. "I feel like I've done something wrong."

"Then let it all out."

"I've whined to you enough."

"Not to me, lord no. To _them_."

Maybe Kitty wasn't as clueless as Kurt had thought.

He bit his lip and then finally nodded.

[:::][:::][:::]

Kurt gritted his teeth, his stomach not shy about gurgling and growling for the food it'd been promised. He couldn't believe Rachel had freakin' stood him up. Hormonal and hungry, he was fresh out of cares to give regarding his petulant scowl. Kurt surveyed the congested courtyard, Rachel's last text message to him pulled up on the screen of his cellphone.

_Meet you at the water fountain, 12 o'clock sharp!_

He tried to reach her, his eyebrows furrowing when her voicemail picked up right away. Rachel had either been very quick to decline his call or her cellphone had been turned off, which wasn't unusual while her class was in session. Something or, more likely, someone was holding up and Kurt's patience had worn thin. He turned on his heel, ready to march out of NYADA with his nose in the air.

Ah, but then his mood was greatly improved by a pair of giggling students stopping him and asking shyly for his autograph. Changing his mind, he decided to go and find his darling (but unforgivably tardy) friend. Kurt shushed the cranky whimpers coming from his rumbling tummy. _I just fed you_, he snapped inwardly at his body's sudden tantrum.

"Ms. Rachel Berry," he sang out cheerfully as he stroke briskly into the spacious classroom. "You're late, you're late for a very important... Blaine." For a second too long, the room spun around Kurt. Despite his brain screaming _retreat_ down to his feet, he remained frozen in the doorway. He breathed out a soft, "Hi."

Blaine stood up immediately, an uncapped marker slipping out from between his fingers. "Kurt, hi." His stricken gaze flicked down from Kurt to the sheet of star stickers on top of a stack of papers on Rachel's desk. "Hi, Kurt."

A short moment passed before Kurt could find his voice again. "Wh—where's our royal highness?"

"She's, uh." Blaine cleared his throat. Kurt looked away from watching the bobbing of his Adam's apple as Blaine swallowed. "She left early for an appointment. Ms. Berry said she'd be gone for the rest of the day."

"Of course." Kurt tried to force his tired eyes to settle back on Blaine without objectifying him, except he suddenly found a need to examine his shoes. "I—I, you..." Just say it, thank him sarcastically for the nonreturnable birthday gift he'd left in your uterus. Yay for icebreakers. "I need to tell you something."

Blaine flinched, the creases on his forehead pinched tight. "No need. I'm really sorry about that, I won't do it again."

"Oh?" Kurt couldn't help but to smile.

"I'm still, gosh. I'm so embarrassed, that's very much why I can't quite look you in the eye." Blaine bent down to pick up the red marker he'd dropped. He snapped the cap on, twisting it. "I didn't get you in trouble or anything, did I? Oh, god. Please tell me you did not get fired!"

Head cocked slightly, Kurt wetted his lips with a dry tongue. "Yeah, Blaine. You got me in _a lot_ of trouble." Blaine's obvious struggle to keep his anxiety in check worked wonders at calming Kurt down. "Don't apologize for the surprise performance at my shop. No, I liked that. It was nice, really nice. Don't, don't be embarrassed. Of course, unless it's over your song choice." Slowly, Blaine lifted his chin up and their gazes met. Kurt shuddered, chickening out. He moved quickly. "Well, I've gotta..." _Not be here_.

"Kurt, wait. Please?" Blaine's hand skimmed down Kurt's arm, his fingertips brushing across the inside of his wrist and then down his opened palm. Their fingers intertwined smoothly, warm and solid. Kurt gasped, breathless.

Don't turn around, he told himself.

Was it any surprise he turned around?

Kurt sucked in a gulp of air. His skin tingled under Blaine's touch, his own mind betraying him by urging Kurt to lean in for a kiss. _No_. It'd happened twice already. Two times since they'd slept together, he and Blaine had exchanged kisses in Rachel's empty classroom. The third attempt had gotten interrupted before their lips could touch by Rachel storming in, back early from a faculty meeting. Oh, Kurt desperately needed a distraction.

"There are crustaceans on your shirt," he whispered. "No, don't do that. Don't smile. They're hideous." Truly. Kurt was appalled that he'd only just noticed their beady little eyes. Even more appalling: the father of his unborn child was wearing a wonderfully fitted polo... with dancing lobsters all over it.

"I'm smiling at you, dummy." Blaine's fond smile nagged at Kurt. "Join me." He continued, clued in to Kurt's confusion. "Join me for lunch, my treat."

Feeling as if he were about to let his emotions get the best of him, Kurt tugged his hand out of Blaine's. Blaine tried to chase after it, but Kurt spun away from him and clasped both of his hands behind his back. "I should go."

"Kurt, I meant what I said. Every word."

He pressed his lips together. "Sure." More than once, Kurt had wondered how he would've responded to Blaine's hesitant profession of "love" had he not gotten him pregnant after only one night together. It'd been fun. _Hot_. Blaine had boldly uttered everything Kurt needed to hear that day after the not-terrible impromptu performance at the boutique. It just wasn't believable. Kurt knew better. He'd shut Blaine out then for 'thinking with his dick' and he could do it again, _now_.

"Don't brush me off, please." At least Blaine always had manners. Even while sated and still balls deep inside of a guy, he had asked Kurt if he were cold and wanted his sweater. Kurt still had it. "Don't brush us off."

Kurt spoke up, his voice somehow managing not to shake as it rose. "There is no us. We're not friends, we're not anything." He could neither deny their physical attraction for each other nor could he let it define them. It was sweet, Blaine's crush on him. Him having had taken advantage of it, though, yeah: not so 'sweet.' They really weren't anything. He and Blaine were basically just each others' rebounds. They had both griped about their failed relationships and then... Boom, awesome (unknowingly baby-makin') sex.

"That's not true and I don't think you believe it, either." Blaine offered him a timid smile, testing the waters. Kurt glowered falsely, his mouth set into a frown. "One date. Bless me with several hours of your time for one date. I'll change your mind."

Kurt coughed out a bitter scoff. "Maybe I'll change yours."

"Is something bothering you?" Blaine's concerned squinty-face set Kurt off. "Like, something _else_? I mean—"

"You mean, other than you?"

Blaine squirmed, stuttering. "I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I'll back off, sorry."

Kurt's eyes skipped away from Blaine's face. He sighed, low and uncertain. "No, it's fine." He tried again, his mouth trembling into a smile. "One date."

"One date," Blaine agreed and picked his elbows up to swing his arms out. "One date," he repeated in a brighter tone.

"You're smiling all too smug for a guy with one date and crustaceans on his shirt."

Blaine winked at him. "All relationships start with one date, Kurt."

"Ours started with one night, actually." Heat pooled low in Kurt's stomach, their eyes darkening at the same time. _Blaine whimpering under him, his hands squeezing at the backs of Kurt's bare thighs. Kurt's head tipping back, an eager Blaine mouthing wetly at the smooth expanse of his exposed throat._

"So you admit—"

Only once, Kurt shook his head. "I admit nothing."

"Fair enough." Blaine chuckled, hitching his shoulders up. "I **will** see you soon."

Kurt stiffened, feeling unbearably hot and flushed all over. His clothing itched, constrictive in the wrong places. His feet wouldn't budge, his toes preferring to remain pointed at Blaine.

Those pregnancy hormones were going to be the death of him.

Right, the pregnancy. His pregnancy. The reminder served as a necessary mini-cold shower. Kurt sighed again, the noise almost a whine.

"So we're clear here, this date isn't an invite for you to come back out on my fire escape." He'd mostly meant it as a joke, wanting to have the last word before they parted ways.

"No... Kurt, no. It's not like that for me."

Kurt drew in a breath. He found himself glaring at the empty space beside Blaine's stupidly sincere face as he squared his shoulders and mumbled a toneless, "Oh." Fatigue hit him hard, unapologetic and demanding. Kurt's hand lifted in somewhat of a wave good-bye. He fled, confused for a fleeting moment as to why his vision was blurred.

"Oh, my god! Kurt Hummel, I love your work. Could I have your—?" Kurt clutched at an askew lapel on his jacket, flying past a freckle-faced admirer.

He tightened his jaw, his teeth grinding painfully for a split second. Why must you insist on dragging this out? He had a chance to lay everything out on the table. He could've gotten it over with already. _Should_ have. Kurt fought for control over the delicate situation, determined to work at his own pace and on his own terms.

Rachel's obnoxious, self-picked ringtone erupted loudly from his cellphone. He ignored it; Kurt couldn't get out of NYADA fast enough.

[:::][:::][:::]

Sugar's hot mess of an office was now Kurt's very own hot mess of an office. He happily slapped a Post-it note onto a bronze giraffe statue and then pressed another one to the rotating disco ball lamp on his desk. An old-fashioned popcorn popper had been the first unsightly object in the room to be tagged with a sticky note, on which two letters were written: _NO_. The defunct machine housed at least one hundred colorfully tacky pairs of plastic sunglasses. Sugar had once referred to it as her most favorite piece of... Art. Yes, "art."

The solid wood corner desk (weighed an estimated eleventy hundred pounds and) could stay. Also on his _YES_ list was a vintage chaise lounge that'd been fully restored. He smiled, humming contentedly as he appreciated its flawless off-white color and brass tack trim. It was his, all his. All his to nap on. Shoes off and vest undone, Kurt lowered himself onto the upholstered sofa. Drunk with fatigue, his mouth split widely into a relaxed grin. Ahh, ain't nothin' wrong with a late afternoon nap!

Oops, except that he then fell into a deep sleep for a solid three hours. If the sound of an incoming call from his cellphone hadn't jolted him awake, Kurt could've easily spent the entire night in his hella hot-mess office. That pre-lunch nap he'd had (you know, the one that had turned into a during-lunch nap... and then a post-lunch nap) hadn't taken the edge off his exhaustion, it appeared. The persistent tiredness both confused and ticked Kurt off; he was actually sleeping very well at night. Oh, um. Aside from those pesky 'getting up to pee' interruptions. Talk about confusion, right there. He thought that'd come later in the pregnancy, not during the middle of his first trimester.

Kurt rolled off the chaise lounge and landed gracelessly on his knees. He fumbled for his lit-up and relentlessly vibrating smartphone, blinking hard and squinting his bleary eyes as he answered the call. "'El—" He yawned his way through an, "oh?"

"Oh, no. Kurt, sweetheart, did I wake you up again?"

"No, no. I was just, uh..." He scrubbed his fingertips at a flaky spot of dried-up drool on his chin. In the two weeks since his return to the city, Carole had called to check-in on him at least every other day. The one night she had woken Kurt up and saved him from burning a pan of turkey meatloaf in the oven; while he found the sudden plethora of calls unnecessary, they were appreciated. Her concern for his health was obvious and he wanted badly to prove to Carole that her worries were unwarranted. He was fine.

_**He **_

_**could **_

_**do **_

_**this. **_

Kurt had recently seen an OB, an appointment he'd kept from her at first. While hinting about how much PTO she'd banked at work, Carole had told him more than a few times that she didn't think he should go alone. Kurt didn't need his step-mommy flying in to take him to see a doctor, _okay_? His first ultrasound was in a week. He was actually using the calendar feature on his cellphone to keep track of all the appointments his new doctor was throwing at him. Kurt finally sighed, "Yes. It's okay, I need to go get ready f—for, uh, home soon. Yeah, I'm still at—" He gasped, finally noticing the time. How the hell? He'd only shut his eyes for a few minutes. "Carole, I'm so sorry. I've got to go, go... _Go_."

Silence crept up on Carole's end and then a soft and knowing, "Mm-hmm."

Kurt rolled his eyes, almost laughing as he bit his bottom lip and realized he was absolutely blushing. "It's not, it's nothing like—like that. I'll, um. I'll tell you later, uh, about it. Carole."

"Mm-_hmm_."

He repeated her name louder, nervous twitches riling up in his belly. Kurt touched his mouth, the tip of his pointer finger prodding gently at his stiff upper lip. He inhaled deeply and confessed, "I am. I'm meeting up with the—him. We have... It's sort of a date."

"Kurt."

He winced at her tone, shaking off a sad smile. The corners of his mouth continued to sag as Kurt echoed her, "Mm-_hmm_." He slumped against the lounge, his legs stretched out and ankles crossed. "Tonight's the night and I almost slept through it."

"You're taking him out on a date?" Carole asked doubtfully, speaking in such a slow manner that Kurt's eyes shut for a moment.

He threw out an indifferent, "Nay." He traced his thumb over a glossy button on his rumpled vest. He'd have time to iron the wrinkles out of his shirt, at least. "He's taking _me_ out on a date." Kurt sighed a little, several breathy exhales. "It's only sort of a date," he insisted. "Kind of."

"Uh-huh, and you don't think you're 'kind of' leading him on?"

He answered her quickly with an indignant squawk of, "No! Carole, he's the one who... He..." Hearing himself; what he was saying and how he was saying it, Kurt shut up. "Maybe I could just text him," he joked.

"And cancel?"

Kurt liked her idea and would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. "No, and tell him I'm pregnant."

Carole harrumphed. "If you were going to do it that way, you would've done it already." He could hear her smile through the phone. "Besides, a hand-written letter is much more personal."

He suppressed a grin of his own. "Huh. I could do that. You think I should include a package of homemade peppermint patties?"

"Oh, you. I'll let you go so you can get ready for your sort of, _kind of_ date." Carole lingered on the other line, sighing uneasily. "You'll call me, right? I'd like to hear from you soon, Kurt."

"I will and you will, _mom_." He straightened his posture, reeling his legs in to crisscross them. "You don't have to... For once, I'm looking forward to what the future's gonna hold for me." Kurt laughed, the noise startling his step-mother. A split second must've passed where she'd thought he had sobbed. "For me," he repeated. "And my, my... _child_. I'm just going with the flow and—and I'm happy to do so." _For once_. He pressed his lips together.

"Your father would be proud of you, honey." Carole sniffled. "So proud," she continued shakily, "to be a grandfather."

Kurt's head twitched, a vague nod. He studied his fingernails and managed to hold off on breaking fully into tears until they hung up with each other. Kurt didn't bother wiping at his eyes or cheeks; he let him fall freely, wanting to drain himself dry. As if that were possible. It didn't help that they were nearly unstoppable. He'd come to learn he could only wait out the crying fits.

He reached for one of his brown Oxford shoes and threw it at the disco ball lamp. Kurt blinked, hardly flinching at the noisy crash. A yellow Post-it note swayed down to the floor, landing in plain view with its _NO_ face up.

Kurt pulled his knees under him, pausing to give the chaise lounge a loving pat. He grunted, pushing himself up. He dragged his feet over to the sticky note, picking it up and then crumpling it in his fist.

[:::][:::][:::]

Off the record, the boutique creeped Kurt out at night. He'd barely dimmed the lights, too on edge with the many creaky noises surrounding him. Kitty had left hours ago; they closed early on Sundays, but Kurt had stayed late with the purpose of working on inventory. Too bad that nap had thwarted his plans. Kurt had many ideas for the store, including a new name ('A Spoonful of Sugar' had to go) and reshaping its specialty. If only he could find the energy to lift a pinky and get started on something already.

He tapped his foot, blocking out any strange sounds by singing to himself as he fixed his hair. Wanting to maintain perfection, Kurt looked for the bottle of his favorite volumizing hairspray. Once it was in his hands, he curiously read through the list of ingredients printed on the side of the silver spray can. Kurt picked up his cellphone and went straight to the all-knowing (and hypochondriac-inducing) Google, his mouth scrunched into a frown. He shrieked at seeing the words 'aerosol hairspray' associated with baby boys and _penis deformity_ in a 9-year-old article on phthalates. The pregnancy website that referenced the report looked as if it'd been designed on GeoCities. Still, Kurt instead opted for the mousse that'd been in a basket of all-natural hair styling products Rachel had given him for his past birthday.

Unable to find the iron he thought he'd recently brought in from home, Kurt decided to lose his vest in favor of a navy McQ crew neck sweater. Any other time, he would've preened at how nicely the silky material clung to his broad shoulders. The ribbed hem accentuated his trim waist and even _that_ didn't earn any self-satisfied appreciation. Despite Kitty's latest "endearment" of 'fatso,' Kurt hadn't put on more than a few unnoticeable pounds. He hoped to control his binge eating episodes soon—very soon. After tonight, in fact. Less stress sounded fabulous and he figured it'd lead to reduced volumes of his daily caloric intake and more sleep. Kurt glanced longingly at the chaise lounge before leaving his office.

Kurt waited for Blaine in front of his store, pacing under the awning. He huffed a frustrated sigh, stopping abruptly to lean heavily against a window and stub his toe into the pavement. The cool air felt nice, although it wasn't as refreshing as he'd like. He fanned his face with a clammy hand.

"Hey _you_!"

He almost fell over, his watery eyes huge and unblinking. Of course Blaine arrived punctually, dressed to the nines and holding an enormous bouquet of red and yellow roses. He offered them to Kurt, smiling toothily. Kurt stared at him, his mouth falling open in a silent laugh when Blaine gave them a little _yes they're for you_ wave. His hands shook as he accepted the beautiful flowers, the colored foil wrapped around the long stems crinkling under his grip.

"Wow."

"What?" Kurt smelled the fresh roses, the lower half of his face hidden behind them. For a second, he smiled freely and drew an eyebrow up because he knew _what_.

"You look... 'Wow.'" Blaine's warm gaze trailed down the fine line of Kurt's body. "I'm really liking that shirt."

An intrigued burst of heat in his lower belly had him flushed in seconds. "Thank you for admiring my style, Blaine."

His dry tone apparently went over Blaine's head 'cause Blaine continued to grin madly. "You're quite welcome." He put a hand on Kurt's elbow. "Shall we?"

"We shall," he agreed. Kurt gave one more slow inhale and then lowered the colorful bouquet. "But first, if I may? I happen to know of a very lonely Tiffany vase that'd love these as much as I do." He would've had to been blind to miss the pleased sparkle in Blaine's eyes. The crushing weight of guilt upon his shoulders stole Kurt's breath away. Blaine followed him inside of the dark boutique. "Pray tell, what's on our agenda for tonight?"

Blaine first paid a compliment to the expensive vase. "You shall see," he answered with a playful cheekiness. "On a related note, I hope you're in the mood for French."

French fries, maybe. _Ooh_.

Blaine started to ramble at Kurt's seemingly tell-tale silence, his nervousness bleeding through quickly and Kurt found it adorable. He'd made reservations at a new restaurant that'd gotten rave reviews and Blaine had also scored tickets to a show Kurt actually wanted to see.

Kurt's mouth was still watering at the thought of french fries. Would they have french fries at a fancy French restaurant? Unsurprisingly, his stomach gurgled loudly. Hurrying, he left Blaine to fill his vase with water from the faucet in the restroom.

"You okay?"

The vase nearly slipped out of his hands. Kurt turned off the water, his breathing fast and heavy.

"Th—thank you for the roses. You didn't have to." He wanted to think he couldn't remember the last time anyone had given him flowers. Except he could: Adam. His ex-fiancé had shown up with white lilies after Burt had passed away. Kurt had thrown them out with the unread sympathy card, angry at Adam's offer of _I'm here if you need me_. He had no right after leaving Kurt and then immediately shutting him out of his life. Kurt tipped the vase to the side, letting some of the cold water pour out and dribble over the back of a clenched hand. If they were on a real date, he realized he would have hugged Blaine and smacked a kiss to those soft lips. He couldn't do it, it was already too exhausting; the façade. Kurt couldn't go through with the "date."

Kurt heard a scoff and then one of Blaine's hands came up to rest on his shoulder. He shivered, a gentle thumb caressing his shoulder blade. "Of course I did, silly. You deserve them and more."

His fingers tightened around the narrow neck of the vase. Kurt's eyes rolled up as he spun around sharply. His shoes squeaked—he must've spilled water on the checkered floor. "No, Blaine." He sighed, "I don't."

"None of that," Blaine chastised in jest. Kurt stiffened, his mind blanking out from a brutal wave of second thoughts. He took a step back from Blaine, the fluorescent light fixture above them flickering. "Hey? I know you can feel this, too. There's something... _between_ us, it's—"

Kurt trained his gaze downward, jaw set and ready for a blow that was coming from _him_. "There is," he snapped calmly. "I'm pregnant." After the fact, Kurt gasped; he hadn't meant to blurt it out while they were standing next to a freakin' toilet! Kurt liked to think there was a time where he'd had class. You know, before he'd had spontaneous public sex with a guy he had barely known. "I'm sorry," he muttered under the erratic buzzing of the wavering lights. "It's nothing you need to worry about. I just thought you should know."

"You, you're—? Oh... Oh, my god. Pregnant? Like... _pregnant_?"

Kurt winced up at the ceiling, nodding. He couldn't look anywhere else, not with the choked sound of Blaine's voice ringing in his ears. He didn't want to see Blaine's reaction or read the shifting of emotions on his face. Kurt knew it'd break him, it would shatter him into one million unsalvageable pieces and he'd cave. He tried to clear of his throat, but a cough erupted out instead and he was forced to lower his chin. He could feel the spittle on his lips. "I want the baby."

A shudder raked through Blaine as he squeaked, "Baby?" He rubbed the nape of his neck, wild-eyed. Blaine breathed uneasily. "Baby."

Kurt almost smiled. He'd gotten used to that word; having tailored it to his liking, he now wore it like a second skin. Yes, he wanted to say. Baby. _His_ baby. "Like I said, don't worry about it."

"'Don't worry about it'? _How_—"

"Please, Blaine. Not in here." He waltzed around Blaine and charged out of the restroom, not thinking about the tilted vase in his arms. More water sloshed onto the floor. Kurt set it down on a counter, the roses forgotten. Blaine followed after him, huffing harshly. "I think you should leave."

"What?" He talked over Kurt's gentle utterances, gaping and stuttering. "No, _no_. You can't—"

"Don't interrupt me." Kurt looked down, his stomach churning. His heart beat painfully in his chest, pounding against the inside of his ribcage. "I think you should leave," he repeated on a deep inhale. "I think you need some time to yourself before you say something you don't mean or make a promise you can't keep. I, I don't want to hear it and I definitely don't need any commitment on your end. Think it over, whatever you're going to say. Whatever you're going to do. _Think it over_. You're just a kid, Blaine."

Hands clenched, Blaine crossed his arms. "I'm an adult, Kurt!"

"Nice outburst, Mr. Adult."

"You're going to mock me?"

Kurt ignored their last exchange. "You don't need this. I don't need you. Take a few days and call me. Or don't. I won't miss your call." He touched the skin near the outer corner of his eye, brushing at nothing.

"Kurt, please." Kurt had gotten lost in Blaine's pleading eyes. He was torn and hesitant; scared. Gutted, he couldn't look at Blaine for a second longer. Kurt stepped away, grabbing a ballpoint pen and one 'Spoonful of Sugar' business card off the register. He scribbled on the back of the teal and purple card, his handwriting messy.

"Never mind. Here." He set the card down and then gestured at it, unable to hand it to Blaine. "This is the 'who, what, when, where' of my ultrasound. You know the _why_, obviously. Okay, um. Either show or don't and if you don't, that's okay. Really okay." He told Blaine that he didn't want to see or hear from him before that date.

"Kurt."

They were standing too close.

Don't hug him, Kurt warned himself.

And he didn't.

Instead, in a wordless reply, he straightened Blaine's crooked bowtie. He lost his voice to mistrust and couldn't find anymore words for Blaine. Blaine tried desperately to continue their conversation and pull answers out of Kurt, wanting more than he could emotionally offer. He wiped at his eyes, snatching the card with Kurt's appointment information off the wet counter. Blaine stomped out of the store, looking broken once he realized Kurt had shutdown before him. He'd turned to stone, refusing to lift his gaze from the floor or open his ears to Blaine's begging. Kurt locked the door, his throat burning from suppressing a sob as he brought down the retractable security gate.

Needing time to calm down, he thought about taking another shot at organizing his office. Kurt decided against it, knowing he'd only succumb to another extended nap on that cherished chaise lounge. On his way to the subway station, Kurt stopped by a McDonald's for an order of french fries. As he waited on the crowded subway platform, he stuffed one cold fry into his mouth at a time.

He had only been home for a few minutes when there was a sharp knocking at his apartment door. He'd just peeled off his bomber jacket and his heart hammered at the urgent sound. (_Let me in)_. Kurt smiled to himself, unsurprised and yet truly relieved. (_I will)_. Tearing up, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Rachel's voice smacked him in the face. "I've had the worst day ever," she cried. He caught a see-through bag of assorted ice cream that'd been swung at him.

Disappointment crackled deep within Kurt's chest and it _hurt_. He ignored it, insisting to himself that it had to do with something else entirely; Kurt was not let-down and he had nothing to be let-down about. Kurt held no expectations for Blaine's involvement with the baby and he counted on Blaine to do exactly as he was asked. It was Blaine's decision if he wanted to be a father or not. Kurt had learned from Rachel's unprofessional antics that Blaine was very good at following orders.

Continuing to have the whole "oblivious" thing down pat, Rachel shoved a bottle of wine at Kurt. She unzipped her knee-length boots while griping about an audition that'd gone horribly awry "thanks to that pompous _jerk_."

He zoned out, not listening to a word she said.

"Rachel. Rachel, hi." Kurt sighed irritably, nudging her boots out of the walkway. "I'm pregnant." This time, he'd intentionally blurted his news out. At least it'd shut her up, if only momentarily. He braced himself for an argument. She was about to freak out on him and Kurt couldn't get rid of her as easily as he had of Blaine.

Wait. The very, very last action he expected from Rachel was for her to clasp both hands over her mouth—over a _smile_.

"Oh, my gosh! Kurt," she gasped. "I knew you two weren't done yet. Gosh, Adam must be so ecstatic."

He mouthed a drawn out "no" before saying it out loud. "Adam and I, we're not... He isn't the..."

Rachel's excited grin faded only when he bluntly revealed to her who the father was. Instantly, she grew annoyed. Rachel demanded to know, "How long? How long, Kurt?"

"Oh, um. Like, almost two months?" Kurt gave his stomach an awkward pat. "Not too far along, as you can see. Got nothin' to show for it, yet." He chuckled and then let his shoulders fall, feeling goofy. Rachel rolled her eyes, impatient.

"No, _how long_ have you two been together? _How long_ have you been seeing him behind my back? _How long_ have—?"

"Oh! No, no, no. We're not 'together' in any sense of the word," he admitted. "Any present tense of the word, anyhow. Say, remember that party you threw for my—?"

That'd been enough information for Rachel to connect the dots. Phew. He thought he'd have to spell it out for her, maybe draw a diagram or create a flip book. "You slept with him at your surprise party?"

Kurt feigned a shocked expression. "You mean he wasn't my surprise?" He tapped her lightly in the upper arm with the corked tip of the bottle of wine, pouting at her glare. "Lighten up, Rachel. You said you brought him to cheer me up." Mm-hmm, and how greatly he'd been cheered up by Blaine's penis.

"Never," she scoffed. "Never did I say that. The party was to cheer you up. I brought Blaine to help me decorate, not knock you up!"

"Yeah, well. Your party failed and it failed hard, Berry."

Rachel threw her arms out, her small hands strangling the air in front of her body. "Nothing I do is ever good enough for you." She turned away from Kurt and then spun back around. Shaking her head, she pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and twisted her fingers into the strands of hair. "But guess what? I'm not giving up. Your dad wouldn't want me to and—and neither would Finn." Rachel grabbed the wine from Kurt and sniffed. "And you can't have any of this." She hugged the chilled bottle, her chin tucked down.

They stood there in silence until Kurt scratched the back of his head. He tried to think of a polite way to verbally push her out of his apartment.

"I've had a long day, Rachel."

"You don't want to talk about the, um...?" Her eyes were fixed expectantly on his abdomen as if she were waiting on his stomach to suddenly inflate and finish her sentence.

"I've had a _long_ day, Rachel."

She spoke softly as if to not spook him. "Let me stay the night," she countered. "And I'll let you keep the ice cream. Please, pretty please?" Kurt was wary, knowing she had more to say on the hot topic of his one night stand with her undergraduate TA and the subsequent pregnancy. "No questions, I promise. Absolutely no questions... Until morning. We'll go out for a judgment-free brunch! You can tell me everything over virgin mimosas. And I do mean 'everything,' Mr. Hummel." She accepted Kurt's cringe as an answer. "Yay. Thank you, thank you."

Rachel hopped over to the sofa in the living room and sat down. Placing the wine between her knees, she used a remote to turn the television on. She channel surfed, finally landing on a station airing the beginning of _The Devil Wears Prada_. "Oh! Double yay."

Kurt eventually joined her, appearing in pajamas and holding out a wineglass with a corkscrew in it. He slumped down beside her, an opened pint of mocha coffee ice cream in his other hand. Two tablespoons stuck out of the frozen dessert where some had already been dug out for a taste.

"Okay, one question. Where are you going to fit a baby?"

"I know, right? I think it grows and everything kind of stretches around it."

She elbowed him, amused and a little shocked. Rachel scrunched her nose. "No, I meant here. Where here are you going to fit a baby?"

"I can fit a crib in my room." He'd have to get rid of a clothes rack, though. She had a point. Kurt barely had enough room for himself in the tiny apartment, which was why he stored some stuff in his office at the store. "That should work for a while. I'll figure it out."

"You could always—"

He cut her off. "_I_ will figure it out," Kurt said. He rested his head on her shoulder, able to relax once several comfortably quiet minutes had passed. Rachel was only holding back for him. He was grateful for their friendship and thought about ways he should start showing it (not that he was about to name his kid after her or anything, get real). Spoon in his mouth, Kurt focused on the movie and not Rachel's worried stare.

**[:::][:::][:::]**


	3. Chapter 2

**Media**: Fic

**Title**: Wanna Be Yours (2/?)

**Rating**: M

**Pairings**: Kurt/Blaine

**Spoilers**: None

**Warnings**: Age difference, mpreg

**Word Count**: ~8.1k

**[:::][:::][:::]**

**Chapter Two**

**[:::][:::][:::]**

Blaine sat cross-legged on an armchair in the dark, his limbs feeling like lead. The sun had set hours ago, a full moon now taking its place. A window behind him had been left open and noise from the sleepless city welcomed itself into the apartment. The drawn honeycomb shades helped only to keep out any lively lights. He barely heard anything over the racing _swoosh-whoosh_ of his own heartbeat, anyway. Hands in his lap, Blaine bowed his head. His fingers were sticky from tugging at his gelled-back hair far too many times, his scalp both itchy and aching from the abuse.

The apartment door flung open abruptly, hitting off the cracked doorstop. He flinched at the racket of Puck's clomping. Blinking hard and working his jaw until he felt a satisfying _pop_, Blaine scrubbed a hand over his face. His unwanted new roommate situation would now have to take the back-burner to the Newest Surprise of His Life. Puck's unexpected residence in the two-bedroom apartment Blaine's parents were partially paying for had been another "special" moment that'd caught him off-guard. He clenched his teeth as a light switch was flipped on.

"Whoa, Blaine? Fuckin' shit, man. You just 'bout scared the... Uh, you okay?"

He let out a strangled laugh. "No," he huffed. Blaine pinched his eyes shut briefly, annoyed with them for tearing up yet again. Sniffling, he shook his head and repeated a less exasperated, "No." He threw his hands up, his posture crumpling. "No, I'm not okay. I think, I think I'm going to be a—a..." He looked away from Puck, worrying his top lip between his teeth.

Puck sighed through his teeth, the sound coming out like a hiss. "A republican?" he guessed dumbly, not bothered by Blaine's distress. The indifference in his tone sent Blaine jumping to his feet, his mouth twisted into a snarl. Puck remained wholly unalarmed by Blaine's outburst and didn't try to hide his smirk.

Blaine's hands were down at his sides and squeezed into fists. He snapped, "I got someone pregnant!" His voice echoed off the walls, loud and shrill. Puck stared down at Blaine, slack-jawed.

"You... Really? _You_ got someone pregnant?" Puck chuckled, his uneven smile reappearing gleefully. He reached forward to give Blaine a congratulatory pat on the back. Blaine stepped away from him, an automatic response after weeks of them butting heads. His amusement nauseated Blaine. "That does suck," he admitted. "But hey, at least you got some."

"You're a pig."

"Duh. So, who's the unlucky dude? Or, ha, the even unluckier chick?" He tutted sarcastically at Blaine's glare. "What? I know how you can get when you're shit-faced... Hell, _everyone_ knows how you can get—"

"You, Puck, you are the last person I want to talk to about this." Blaine ignored the rest of what Puck had to say, albeit he had rolled his eyes. He sat back down on the swivel armchair.

"'K, so you just wanna stew by your sober lonesome and mope about your screw-up? Uh-huh, alright. Fine." Puck grunted as he dimmed the lights. He hit the wrong switch and the ceiling fan started to spin. "Why not?" he continued. "Sounds healthy or, um. It would if 'healthy' meant 'pathetic.'"

"Cut me a break, Puck. I literally just found out." Blaine leaned back heavily, his knees sprawled. He needed time to—to... How had Kurt put it? Ah, yes. Blaine needed time to "think it over." 'It' was such a loaded word, he thought.

"Relax, would you? This happens to the best of us."

"This isn't like that, what happened with you." Kurt's mouth moved soundlessly in Blaine's head: 'I want the baby.' A fear seized him, one he couldn't shake off. Feeling as though he could shiver at any moment, he hugged his arms to his chest. "He's keeping it."

Puck shrugged, his body language expressing another heartfelt _duh_. "Of course he is. It's the best way for him to sink his claws into your trust fund."

Up and at 'im! Blaine rose, fueled by another sudden onset of 'how dare you' rage. Puck had gotten pretty dang good at provoking those kind of reactions. "He isn't like that. Yeah, he's keeping the baby... and he wants nothing to do with me." More close-ups of Kurt's slow-moving lips flickered in and out of Blaine's mind._ I don't need you_. Knees nearly giving out on him, he collapsed onto the armchair once again.

"Dude, he gave you can out? Take it." Puck took his turn at an eyeroll. "What more could you want?"

Blaine answered shakily sure with, "I want him."

Puck gave him a look and Blaine couldn't begin to decipher it. Slowly, his features softened. "I think... for you, it's either the two of 'em of _nada_." Puck then sighed harshly, perhaps at the lack of a response from Blaine. "Come on, let's get out of here. You definitely need a beer in you and me? I'm feelin' generous enough to make that happen. Yo?"

"No, I need to figure this out." Blaine hunched forward again, restless. He kicked his feet under the chair, ankles crossed. He asked himself, "What are you going to do?" for the millionth time that evening. His response wasn't _the_ answer. Go to him. That was what he wanted to do, now. He had no idea if Kurt would answer the phone if he called him or if he'd let him into his apartment if Blaine marched over there. He needed to talk to him, badly, so badly. Except, he couldn't bear the thought of upsetting Kurt. 'Be there for him' was another impulsive response. It too came with a but. _You're not ready to be a father_. What are you going to do, Blaine? Well, for starters, he was going to do exactly as he had been asked. It was all he could do.

"What's there to figure out? You knocked up some dude. He wants it, you don't." Puck hitched a thumb over his shoulder, his voice strained with impatience. "Seriously, let's go get trashed."

Blaine shook his head fervently. "I never said that," he tried to argue. Puck spoke over him.

"Oh, come on! You don't want a kid in your life right now. Do ya, huh? _Huh_?"

"No, but—"

"There are no 'buts.'" Instantly, Puck cooled down. "Except for the one you came in. Rookie mistake. Remind me to tell you **all about** the pull-out method."

"Get away from me, Puck."

"What? I ain't gonna whip it out or nothin'."

Blaine groaned tiredly, burying his face into his hands. Why, why, _why_ was it too much to ask for extended time alone in his own apartment? Floorboards creaked as Puck paced one time around the coffee table. Blaine wished he could refuse to acknowledge the annoying presence of the roommate he had never asked for. If only all past attempts hadn't proved futile. Puck could never go undetected anywhere. He'd make for a terrible spy.

"You tell Sam yet?"

Blaine couldn't find a response to Puck's inquiry, neither physical nor verbal.

Puck scoffed. "You gonna? Blaine, he's your biggest bro. Call him."

Silence passed between them, the uncomfortableness about it familiar. It took several minutes before Blaine lifted his head up and blinked his eyes open. He wetted his lips once, his tongue darting out almost hesitantly before pressing into the inside of his pursed mouth. Mind fried, he could only state exactly what was on his mind (other than the repetitive chorus of _oh, shit_).

"I _do_ need some time alone."

Puck laughed, the sound humorless and filled with disbelief. "Why? I know you, Blaine. You already know what you're going to do. Now, how about that drink?"

Blaine finally shouted a, "No." He pulled his wallet out and fished out a few dollar bills. A small slip of paper fell out and landed on the floor. "You go. Go have one for me, on me."

"Fine, whatever." Puck took the money. "More for me, then. Just get over that old bullshit already and call _him_, okay? Call Sam." Fed up, he echoed another frustrated "whatever" at Blaine's stubborn non-reply.

Of course, when he finally left, Puck slammed the door shut with too much force. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson could kiss their security deposit goodbye.

Blaine pushed a hand over the top of his frizzy-haired head. His mouth opened for a sigh, but out came a yawn. Too tired to remain in an upright position, he decided he had the capability of making at least one decision—and that was to drag his ass to bed. Before his feet could move, Blaine picked up what he'd dropped minutes ago. His breath uncontrollably hitched one time after another. It was a shimmery 'Spoonful of Sugar' card, the very one with Kurt's appointment information written sloppily on the creased back. He flattened a bent corner between two fingers.

Call him. Call Sam.

Anger put aside, he thought about it. He had been there for Sam, offering advice and lending an ear for every "I've made a huge mistake" conversation-starter. Best bros, indeed.

Up until Sam had drunkenly kissed him.

That's right. Sam had initiated the sloppy kiss. It'd lacked any kind of spark and hadn't been anything special for Blaine. If anything, the way Sam had panted into his face with gross Doritos breath had made him queasy. Maybe years ago, when his crush on Sam had been embarrassingly huge and fresh, Blaine would've felt something other than 'ew.' He was glad he hadn't; it'd been insulting how badly Sam had freaked out after The Kiss. Like, he'd freaked out way too much. Unnecessarily too much. He had given Sam space, quietly annoyed by the overreaction.

As per Sam, his desire to find the Love of His Life(tm) had been fueled solely by Blaine's apparently irresistible lips. Blaine hadn't expected Sam to then re-locate to another state just for a possibility of reconnecting with an ex-girlfriend. It'd been completely out of the blue, him needing to see if an old relationship that had been ended due a physical distance could be saved. Sam had told Puck, before knighting him as Blaine's replacement roommate without telling Blaine, that he was unhappy and bored with his NYC life. Sam had left with a quick goodbye to Blaine, eager for "real" love and a new adventure.

Blaine's stomach clenched guiltily. Not in any way that had to do with Sam, but with Kurt. He'd lie to him that night on the fire escape. He had referred to Sam as an ex-boyfriend and said he'd left him for a woman. Kind of true—ish. Blaine had wanted to connect with Kurt and he had, through one little lie after anther. I know how you feel, he'd told him. Kurt's hesitant smile and the sympathetic softness in his gorgeous eyes had sent a fire through Blaine's veins. I could love you, he'd known immediately. Give me the opportunity to love you. Kurt had done more than that.

_You already know what you're going to do_, Puck had said to him.

Blaine tucked the card back into his wallet.

[:::][:::][:::]

Hell hath no fury like a Rachel Berry scorned, Blaine was sure.

That was why he tip-toed into her classroom on the too-sunny Monday after the disastrous weekend he spent chugging homemade soda and hiding from Puck. He knew to be on alert. Rachel always called him on Sundays to go over her unnecessarily bloated schedule and repetitive lesson plans with him for the following week. She would also discuss what she'd need from him (hot water with lemon on certain days at specific times, when to fetch her her vaporizer, etc). He was aware she was abusing him as her TA, but he could never say no to her. She was _the_ Rachel Berry! Also, her tantrums were scary. Anyway, she hadn't contacted him yesterday. Not by phone or e-mail, and that wasn't good. Kurt must've also spilled the beans on the pregnancy to her, too. Blaine was doomed.

Rachel was sitting at the desk in her classroom, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun and her bangs pinned back. She wore more make-up than usual; the harsh angles of her bronzed face from dramatic contouring made her look angry—ready to kill. Blaine gulped. She glared at him, her rosy beige lips twitching in an attempt not to snarl a frown at him and create wrinkles.

"I have mostly been 'barred' from speaking to you by his royal highness," she informed him while enunciating each word sharply. "So! I very much need for you to leave, please." Her fake, impatient smile was tacked on at the last minute and most unpleasant.

Surprised, he cleared his throat twice. "I'd like to stay."

"I'd like to have gotten a chance to show my best friend some tough love. He was almost back to normal, he was nearly _Kurt_ again and now he's..." Blaine caught the smallest flicker of sadness and pity in her doe-like eyes before they narrowed in at him. "This arrangement is not going to work. I'm sure your brother can find someone else who'll graciously take you under their talented wing only for you to take advantage of their best friend."

He threw up both of his hands, his mouth opened in a gape of startled disbelief. What happened between him and Kurt on the fire escape was private for many reasons. Kurt had confided in Blaine as if they'd always known each other and he cherished every minute they had spent together. Blaine wasn't about to get into detail with her, but he would defend himself.

"I did not take advantage of Kurt. I like him, Ra—Ms. Berry, ma'am. I care for him, that's why I'm—" His eyebrows knitted together in confusion, a frown forming in the creases. "My brother? What does Cooper have to do with... Oh. Oh, my god. He _didn't_."

Rachel smoothed her hands along the sides of her leather pencil skirt as she stood up. She slid on her black glasses, the clear lenses in them plastic. Blaine didn't have the heart to tell her she looked like a wayward librarian. He couldn't really talk, though.

She seemed somewhat embarrassed as she said, "I won't get into the details of our deal." Rachel sighed. "I'd love nothing more than to tell you to get lost." He thought she already had. Luckily she interrupted him from speaking up. "People love me, Blaine. I am worshiped here as NYADA's finest vocal instructor. I'm a _star_. There are a lot of students who would literally kill to be my TA." She sighed again, but this time it sounded more like a whine. "That said, Kurt asked me to not treat you any differently. I guess your position is safe. For now."

Overwhelmed with hope, Blaine almost smiled. "Kurt, he doesn't... _hate_ me?"

Rachel made a face, her eyes rolling upward and then quickly falling down to land on the metronome on her desk. She held her head up high and simply ignored his question. "By the way, don't ever call me ma'am again."

Oops, he'd broken one of the ten classroom commandments. They were posted on the door in Comic Sans with gold stars serving as bullets. _Please, no autograph requests during class_ had recently been crossed out.

"And Blaine? Kurt's a real person with real feelings. Remember that."

Blaine scrunched his nose a little. "Of course," he agreed.

She nodded, still not looking at him. "Good," Rachel whispered.

The next day was way worse since Rachel refused to give him the time of day. He might as well have stayed at home because she went without acknowledging him once. Ms. Berry had stared through him with eerily blank eyes when he'd stopped her in a deserted hallway to ask about Kurt. Her behavior was especially unprofessional in the classroom. The frustration of it all wore Blaine down. At times, he had this urge to kick a chair.

On Wednesday, he waved a white flag and sent her a short e-mail at a quarter after five in the morning. He couldn't go through another day of her treating him like he was literally nothing, which was why he was "so very sick and unfortunately unable to make it in." Except, Blaine ended up scrambling to his classes when he realized he'd also have to skip tomorrow, too. Kurt's appointment was in the mid-morning and he had no idea how long they'd be there. Hoping Rachel wouldn't spot him anywhere at NYADA, he wore a pair of aviator sunglasses and let his hair go au naturel under a beanie (both accessories were "borrowed" from Puck, who often helped himself to anything of Blaine's).

Blaine couldn't sleep a wink that night. Unsurprisingly, too many demanding thoughts were stomping through his head about Kurt and the—the...

"Baby," he muttered into the darkness of his bedroom. Music was playing through headphones that were plugged into his iPhone. Both earbuds had already fallen out of his ears. _You need to get used to _that_ word_. It sounded foreign to him, as if he weren't speaking English. "Baby," he repeated louder and then lowered his voice. "A baby. The baby. Kurt's baby... My baby... Our baby." Yep, it was definitely growing more foreign-ish as he continued babbling.

On the subway home, he'd almost sent Kurt a _see ya in the mornin'_ text message. He had sat there, wondering if a smiley face would be "too much." Blaine had known better than to send it. He wanted to surprise Kurt tomorrow. He needed to show him he could take on the responsibility of the—of what they'd done. Shit. He'd just taken a step backwards.

"Baby," he said again sternly.

It drove him crazy, the fact that he wanted Kurt so much his heart ached to be near him again and yet... Blaine wasn't one hundred percent sure he could _be_ a dad. Like, he had no idea how to parent! Blaine was barely out of his teens and about to be handed a tiny human to raise. All because of a defective condom. It wasn't fair.

"Is he worth it?" Puck had asked him one night. Was Kurt worth changing his entire life for?

Kurt was amazing and everything anyone could ever want in a guy—in a man: funny with a sense of a humor, charming to a T, kind, and smart. He was handsome and _oh_ so very talented. Kurt E. Hummel was, like, a quadruple threat; NYADA had once put on a play he'd written specially for the school. Blaine couldn't believe Kurt was interested in him. Or had been interested in him. C'mon, Kurt was way out of his league. He could do better. Or could have done better. Blaine had fallen hard for him before the sex, the very sex that'd been the icing on the cake.

Yes, he was worth it.

"_I don't usually do this." Hot breath tickling his ear._

"_Have sex outside?" A hand finding its way under his rucked-up shirt, desperately rubbing over his heaving chest._

"_Bottom." Kurt's moan cutting off whatever else he was about to say with Blaine kissing his neck, shy only at first. _

Blaine shivered.

It hadn't felt like "just" sex. Kurt had to have realized it. They hadn't had much alone time since then, only a few minutes here and there where they were they were able to get in a couple of quick kisses between their flirty exchanges. He could still feel the wide stretch of Kurt's lips against his lips.

Blaine wasn't sure if he would stop himself from going through with it if he could go back in time. Maybe he'd warn himself to wear an extra condom or something.

Minutes before he would get out of bed, doubt crept in and left Blaine with an upset stomach. He couldn't lie there for any longer, his body as antsy as his mind.

_Don't go._

_Go._

_Don't go._

_You're going!_

He had to. Blaine fell out of bed as if he'd been pushed and landed hard on his knees. It took him a moment to catch his breath. He shifted until he could lean against the side of the bed, his vision blurring and the urge to throw up increasing rapidly.

Today was the day he'd been waiting for.

And maybe the day he had been dreading, too.

No. Today was Kurt's 8-week ultrasound: a day to be celebrated and not ruined with second thoughts, even if he couldn't ignore them.

Blaine picked himself up off the floor and tiptoed into the bathroom. He took an extra long shower, his tense muscles grateful for the hot water. Since his hooded bathrobe had recently "gone missing," he wore a towel around his waist as he headed back to his bedroom. Blaine lingered in front of his walk-in closet, the door held open with a paperweight. He wanted to dress more... adult, but he wasn't sure... how (or if it were possible). He shook his head, tossing yellow suspenders over his shoulder. And no animal prints! Lips pursed, Blaine considered a three-piece suit. It was a must to look nice for Kurt. _Be yourself_. He sighed and eyed his bow tie drawer with a tiny smile. That he could do.

He looked the doctor's office up on Google Maps and decided to walk there instead of taking public transportation. Although it wasn't a short distance away, he was running early and figured it'd be a good way to clear his head.

Yeah, Blaine was running very early. He made it to Kurt's appointment with an hour and twenty-two minutes to spare. No worries, he preoccupied himself with some puzzles in various _Highlights_ magazines. He used a broken red crayon to circle the differences between two "nearly" identical cartoon panels. He eventually spotted an issue of Vogue and flipped through it. Once he tired of that, Blaine logged into Facebook on his cellphone and scrolled through his news feed.

Kurt's appointment time arrived without Kurt. Feet planted on the floor, Blaine lifted his tush off the seat of his chair for better motion as he searched the busy waiting room for a familiar face. His mouth sagged into a disappointed frown (and it wasn't because a two-year-old had taken his crayon). Perhaps Mr. Hummel would be running fashionably late? Blaine folded his hands into his lap and he continued to wait... and wait...

And wait.

It took another half hour to drag by before his patience dwindled away to nothing. He soon found himself out in the hall, standing beside a tall potted plant. Blaine couldn't help but to feel a bit upset. Was Kurt screwing with him? Maybe he'd given him the wrong time or date. Whether he had done it on purpose or unintentionally, Blaine wasn't sure. For all he knew, Kurt could have taken it upon himself to make the decision for him.

No way. Kurt wouldn't have done that, he tried to reassure himself. Kurt wasn't like that, Blaine didn't think... No, don't do that. Blaine told himself to absolutely not focus on how much he didn't know about the hot near-stranger he had accidentally procreated with. He couldn't believe Kurt was giving _him_ a choice and demanding he take his time deciding on how he wanted to handle the unexpected situation. To him, it had seemed as if Kurt had assumed he wouldn't want anything to do with _them_.

Blaine suddenly felt sick, panic setting in. There was a reason why Kurt hadn't shown to his OB appointment. What if something had happened to Kurt, something bad? What if...

He had to call Kurt. He had to call him now. Blaine had given him what he'd ask for, plus he had originally said Blaine could call him. 'I won't miss your call'? Too freakin' bad.

Kurt answered after seven terribly long rings that Blaine held his breath through. He first heard the rustling of sheets and then the low, hoarse sound of Kurt's sleepy voice.

"B'aine? What... Oh, god. I slept through my appointment? I slept through my appointment!"

Blaine couldn't hold back a sigh of relief or an apologetic tone in response to Kurt's panicked state. "You slept through your appointment," he confirmed.

"I can't believe I... I've never... My alarm didn't..."

"Hey. Hey, Kurt?" He bit his lip and smiled, waiting for Kurt to quiet before he spoke up again. "I'm here," he pointed out nervously.

Kurt's pause didn't last for nearly as long as Blaine thought it would. "You're there." He sounded breathless and farther away from the phone.

"I am." Blaine swallowed and decided to take a leap and stand his ground. He wouldn't take _no_ for an answer. Um. Hopefully he wouldn't. "Can we still meet? Please, Kurt. I need to see you."

"Blaine..."

No, no, no.

"I'm here." Embarrassed by the tremor in his voice, Blaine let his head tip back. He prayed Kurt wouldn't find him pathetic. He wasn't above begging, not for this. For him and to him. If only he could get Kurt to rip off the "just a kid" label he'd unfairly given him. He couldn't only give Blaine a choice; he needed to give him a _chance_, too. "I listened to you. Maybe now you can listen to me?"

Another nail-biting pregnant pause. "I—I need to re-schedule the ultrasound. I can call you back?"

"No, wait. I'm here, right? Let me do that for you. This way, you won't have to wait forever on hold or anything. You can, uh, maybe use that time to get ready and we can, uh, maybe meet for coffee. Maybe?"

The reluctance on the other end was a knife to Blaine's gut. "I don't—"

"I'm here, Kurt!" He raised his voice, the desperate edge to it overwhelming to his own ears. Blaine flinched, ready for Kurt to hang up on him and change his phone number.

"Okay."

Blaine's eyelashes fluttered. "Okay?" His shoulders sagged when Kurt breathed out another soft, "Okay."

"Just, um. Don't make it for the morning. Afternoons work best for me, apparently. Like, mid-afternoon? I tend to... nap during lunch and I don't want to do this again."

Blaine had nodded throughout Kurt's mumbled request. "You got it." He gave Blaine the name and partial address of a nearby coffee shop, a yawn interrupting him.

"Sorry. I can get there by 11. How's that, is it okay for you?"

He laughed. "It's more than okay for me. I **will** see you then, Kurt."

"Okay," was Kurt's flat reply and Blaine had to echo once more with an upbeat inflection.

There were three people waiting in line at the receptionist's desk when he re-entered, a skip in his step. Blaine waited patiently, a goofy grin on his face. He couldn't lessen the giddiness of it if he tried. A pregnant woman had waddled in, obviously nearing the end of her third trimester. He gestured for her to cut in front of him.

Suddenly, Blaine couldn't stop picturing how Kurt would look when he started showing—would he carry high or low? Blaine imagined a winking Kurt rubbing his hands over a big ol' pregnant belly while wearing a t-shirt too small to completely cover up his protruding abdomen. The mental image gave him goosebumps and he didn't want to think about how his pants now felt slightly tighter.

Thanks to his timing and a last minute cancellation, he was able to re-schedule the ultrasound for later that day.

"Today's your lucky day," the secretary said to him.

Blaine ducked his head. "It really is."

Rather than riding an elevator down two floors, he opted to take the stairs. Once in the stairwell, his cellphone vibrated. He had sent Kurt a text message to let him know of the new appointment time. Blaine glanced down at the screen when it continued to move in his hand. He had an incoming call, and guessed it was either Kurt or Cooper. "For some reason," Blaine's darling brother was dodging his calls and not replying to any of his texts. He moved his thumb out of the way and was surprised to see it was Sam trying to reach him. Although he declined the call, he had actually considered answering. He'd call him back at another time; Blaine already had too much on his plate for one day.

Of course, Blaine arrived to the coffee shop first. He ordered for himself and Kurt, knowing his coffee order from the many times Rachel would "ask" him to go on a 'caffeine run' for them. He also nabbed a few white chocolate macadamia nut biscotti and scones. He chose a table near the door. While the cozy café had a relaxing atmosphere, Blaine's hand shook as he stirred cinnamon into his hot beverage.

Kurt set foot into the coffeehouse at exactly 11 o'clock, his hair brushed but not styled and his face unshaven. The dark circles around his eyes were worrisome. Gaping at the sight of freckles standing out starkly on Kurt's pale face, Blaine dropped half of a biscotti into the coffee he'd been dunking it in. He bolted up, breathless as he pulled out a chair for Kurt.

"Thank you for—" he started to say as Kurt uttered, "Sorry for—" They abruptly stopped talking at the same time, the two of them engaged half-heartedly in an awkward staredown. Kurt wouldn't drop his derriere onto his seat until Blaine sat back down first.

"You don't have to do that. Apologize. It's not necessary." Blaine nudged the plate of pastries and twice-baked cookies toward Kurt. "Did you get my message about the opening for 3? If we can't make it, then they won't be able to fit us in until the end of next week." He flushed under Kurt's wide-eyed stare. "Is there something on my face?"

"Oh, no. No." Kurt's own cheeks were also tinged pink. He looked down from Blaine to the non-fat mocha sitting in front of him. "Oh. Is this for me?"

Blaine gave him a warm smile. "Yes, it's—are you still drinking coffee? Oh, god. I totally forgot. I'm such a dummy." His face twisted into a wince. "I can get you decaf. I'm going to get you decaf." Kurt caught the sleeve of his shirt and held steady to keep Blaine from bouncing away.

"Blaine, it's fine. Please, no decaf. Nothing gets between me and caffeine, not even..." He didn't let go of Blaine until Blaine gently rested his fingers over Kurt's hand. Kurt pulled his arm in close to his body. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I..." _Think so?_ No, ya dumbass! That answer would only send Kurt storming out of the shop. Then he'd been lucky to ever see him again. Blaine cleared his throat and deepened his voice for a clear, "Yes."

Kurt didn't look like he believed him and Blaine couldn't blame him. Sipping on his coffee, Kurt hummed a noncommittal noise.

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Blaine blurted, worried about how uncharacteristic Kurt's disheveled appearance was. Kurt's mouth tightened.

"I'm pregnant," he stated in a defensive manner that befuddled Blaine.

_Is that a yes or no?_ was at the tip of his tongue. Blaine agreed with a slow nod and, "You are."

Kurt leaned back, one leg crossed over the other. The color of his socks matched the teal Vivienne Westwood hoodie he wore, its zipper down far enough to make Blaine tip forward and wonder if Kurt was wearing anything under it.

_Would you quit ogling him?_ Blaine reprimanded himself silently. Kurt deserved respect from him.

"Y—you said something that made me think..."

Kurt's lips curved into a faint smile. _Oh boy_, did that make Blaine's stomach flutter. "Was it 'I'm pregnant'?"

"You said we weren't friends," Blaine continued while trying and failing not to laugh. Two of his fingers tapped against the edge of the table. He grew serious. "I'd like to change that. I mean, it's _gotta_ change."

"Right. If you're serious about raising this child with me, we're going to need to have boundaries." Kurt's eyes took more of an interest on the cardboard sleeve around his cup of coffee than on Blaine. He sounded detached, almost indifferent. "A romantic relationship between us would have to be off the table. I don't want us getting involved in that way just because I'm pregnant. Something like that, it dooms a relationship from the start. We'd have to co-parent as friends, nothing more."

Blaine's mouth had gone dry. He would prove Kurt differently with action. "I am serious," he insisted. "I—_I_..." He scooted his chair in closer to the table. He wouldn't continue with what he had to say until Kurt stopped averting eye contact; once made, Blaine held on to it fiercely. "I am going to be, like, your new BFF. Anything you want or need, I'm here for you. You can share everything with me, and Kurt? I'd like it if you did." He extended his hand out to Kurt, palm upward. "We are," he promised in a whisper, "in this together."

Kurt nodded his head, the straight line of his lips wobbling as he took hold of Blaine's hand. His thumb stroking over Blaine's knuckles was all it took for Blaine to forget how to breathe for a moment.

Lungs, what lungs? Oxygen, what's that?

Still feeling unsettled, he squinted at Kurt. "Are you sure you're getting enough sleep?"

Moment ruined. Kurt drew his hand back hastily. "I am. I do." He shrugged his shoulders and then straightened them by pinching his shoulder blades together. "Usually. It's just..." He shook his head and reached for a caramel pecan scone. "Nothing."

"What?" Blaine cocked his head. Under the table, his foot nudged Kurt's. "Come on, what is it? You can tell me. BFF, remember?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, sucking at a patch of sweet stickiness on the side of his thumb. "It is nothing. I had a stupid dream."

"If it's bothering you, then it's not nothing and it's definitely not stupid."

He took a large bite of the scone. "Alright, fine." Kurt talked around the food in his mouth; usually a lack of etiquette was a major turn off for Blaine. Yet, rather than finding it unattractive, he wanted to lick the crumbs off Kurt's mouth. "I had this dream where nothing came up on the sonogram. It was all black and—and empty. Like, I guess the blood work had been wrong and I'd never been pregnant." Kurt squirmed uncomfortably. "I woke up and... I don't know, the dream had kind of irked me a little. I didn't fall back asleep until probably an hour before I was supposed to meet you."

Blaine searched Kurt's face as he inquired, "Was I there?"

"I was—" Kurt's troubled gaze flicked down as he picked up a napkin and dabbed it at the corners of his mouth. "In the dream, I was... It'd felt disappointing, like I was being held down and smothered by disappointment." He balled the napkin up. "There's always a chance you could get out of this."

"Hey," Blaine chastised in shock. "Don't say that. Like you said, it was only a dream." He brought his chair around to Kurt's side of the table, its legs screeching against the floor. He patted Kurt's fist and then gave it an encouraging squeeze. "And like I said, I'm here for you. Come what may, Kurt."

Kurt's eyelashes glistened. Blaine expected to see a glimmer of hope in those beautiful blue eyes. Instead, sadness lingered there. "You're here for _me_," he stated and didn't look any less deflated. His face pulled down in concern.

Blaine wasn't sure who the concern was for.

[:::][:::][:::]

As it turned out, Kurt was not wearing anything under that hoodie. They'd headed to Kurt's apartment so he could use the two hour gap before his re-scheduled appointment to his advantage by freshening up with a shower ("A much-needed shower," Kurt had grumbled, running a hand along his stubbly chin).

"You don't have to come back with me," he'd told Blaine after they had thrown their empty cups into a recycle bin at the coffee shop.

Blaine had insisted on it and now, here they were. Kurt shed off the hoodie as he strolled toward his bedroom. Blaine longed to follow him; to come up snug behind Kurt and grab hold of those naked hips once more. He craved the taste of—

_Friends, nothing more_.

Shh. Temptation was but a fleeting thought. He dragged out a sigh, stepping around an ottoman. Blaine stood in front of a window, the one that led out onto the fire escape. Although he had agreed to Kurt's terms of a "strictly" platonic relationship, it wasn't as if he could snap his fingers and turn his feelings for Kurt off. Blaine had already made enough promises to Kurt during their little coffee meet-up. Words, no matter how heartfelt, weren't going to work; they weren't enough. He would **show** Kurt how supportive he could be and Blaine had seven months to _wow_ him (in more ways than wowing his pants off—he'd proved himself there).

Anxiety regarding the future perched itself on Blaine's shoulder and hounded him. Midterms were coming up, along with Spring Break. He mulled over his involvement in the UGTA program; Blaine liked the lot of students enrolled in Rachel's classes, even though many of them sucked up to him as if that'd earn them a better grade or his phone number (Rachel had said she wasn't worried because he was too oblivious of their advances to play favorites). He worried about his commitment to them, seeing as how he'd been absent for the past two days. He had a presentation due tomorrow and he hadn't worked on it since Kurt's pregnancy bombshell. Despite Kurt telling him he didn't need any money from him, Blaine wanted to find a job and contribute to Kurt's office visit co-pays and his outrageously high deductible. Staring out the window, he lost track of time.

"You look like you're about to fall over," Kurt remarked from behind Blaine. Thanks to concealer and a close shave, he now appeared less zombie-esque. Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, not liking the slow throb at his temples. Kurt had blow-dried his hair and wore it swept upward from his face. Blaine hadn't even heard the sound of a blow dryer. "You okay?"

He smiled. Like Kurt's, it didn't meet his eyes. "Before... this, did you want kids?"

"Someday, yeah." Kurt sat down on the couch, holding a pair of black boots that had an all-over print of metallic gold skulls. "Adam and I agreed to wait until after we were married and once it felt right to the both of us, he'd carry first."

"'First,'" he repeated. Blaine lowered his hand from his face. "So you want more than—?"

"Blaine, can we not?" Kurt slipped his feet into the pull-on boots.

He sat down beside Kurt, his fingers laced together in his lap. "I love kids," he said with a dash of pep. "I always knew I wanted them someday, too."

"Yeah," Kurt muttered distractedly on a breathy exhale. He touched Blaine's wrist, angling it slightly for a better look at the time on his watch. "We'd better get going. I can_not_ be late! I don't need two strikes against me in the 'unfit parent' category."

Blaine choked on a laugh when he realized Kurt was _serious_. "You had a rough night and slept through one appointment. It's not like you missed it because you were massively hungover from too many rum and cokes last night and now you're about to show up there with two lit cigarettes in your mouth."

"Why two lit cigarettes?"

He scoffed as if he figured Kurt should've known the answer. "One for you, one for the baby. _Of course_."

"Of course." Kurt's smile returned, more genuine and bearing a sliver of embarrassment on Blaine's behalf. He excused himself and got up to grab a sweater out of his room.

"You ready?" Blaine asked, waiting by the door by the time Kurt returned.

Kurt responded with a deep inhale and nothing more.

[:::][:::][:::]

_yo ive herd some crazy rumors? _

_ABOUT YOU dude call me_

Blaine rolled his eyes at the text messages he had received from Sam. He responded with a one-worded reply (a vague "later") and then turned his cellphone off.

"We can take a seat now," Kurt murmured to him. Once he finished checking in with the receptionist, he touched Blaine's arm to gain his attention. They walked toward a pair of empty chairs, his fingers not leaving the crook of Blaine's elbow until they sat down.

Blaine studied the profile of Kurt's face as he stared out across the waiting room. "Is this your first sonogram?" he asked, unsure about how Kurt's initial evaluation with Dr. Samujh had gone or how often prenatal ultrasounds were performed. His knowledge was limited to what he'd seen on TV and in the movies. Blaine at least knew female and male pregnancies weren't handled _exactly_ the same due to the "slight" anatomical differences.

Kurt nodded erratically, his lips disappearing between his teeth.

"You're nervous," Blaine noticed aloud.

"And you're not?" Kurt fixed him with a stare. He crossed one arm over his chest, the other tucked against his mid-section. He lowered his voice, nearly hissing. "Sonograms are important, Blaine. I shouldn't have to explain that to you."

Blaine's heart wedged its way up into his throat, cold dread pouring over him. He was already ruining this. "I am," he whispered. "I'm nervous, too."

It wasn't until they were crammed into a chilly exam room when Kurt spoke up for the first time in fifteen minutes and said, "I didn't mean to snap at you." He sat up on the padded table, using a hand to hold his unbuttoned shirt closed. Blaine's offer of his cardigan had gone _mostly_ ignored (Kurt had... snorted? Some of his reactions were thoroughly confusing Blaine).

"It's okay."

"It's _not_, but thank you."

It wasn't long before an ultrasound technician came in and shook their hands, introducing herself as Debbie. She verified Kurt's full name and date of birth, then asked him if he had a full bladder for the procedure. "It helps us get a better picture," she explained. Debbie's finger slid all over the screen of the tablet in her hand. "Let's see, Mr. Hummel. You are here today for a fetal ultrasound."

"I—I'm eight weeks pregnant," he mumbled. Blaine barely heard him. "I'll be 9 weeks in two days."

Debbie set the computer down on a counter before she washed her hands. "Oh, so you know your date of conception?"

He and Blaine were quick to exchange a look and share very small smiles. "I am very familiar with the date of conception."

"It was his birthday." Blaine winked at Kurt, pushed up onto the balls of his feet.

Their technician plucked two gloves out of a dispenser on the wall. She opened and then closed her mouth, apparently deciding to keep any comments to herself. She asked Kurt to lie back as she readied the medical equipment and grabbed a warmed bottle of ultrasound gel.

Blaine frowned with his eyebrows when Kurt didn't move. He looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted to be anywhere else. For someone who was happy about his pregnancy, he wasn't acting like it. Stepping in closer and then as close as he could get, Blaine stroked his shoulder. Kurt glanced at him, his mouth forming a circle.

He gave the pillow waiting for Kurt's head a purposeful pat. "I'm ready if you're ready."

Once he had reclined and worked his pants open to push them slightly down his hips, Kurt's arms fell down to his sides. Blaine stared at his taut stomach—no telltale "bump" yet. As his gaze traveled up to peek at Kurt's chest, he could feel Kurt's eyes on him and blushed.

"Sorry."

Debbie situated herself on the opposite side of the table from Blaine. She warned Kurt before squirting the gel onto his abdomen. "Okay! Let's see what's going on in here." She moved the transducer back and forth across his slippery belly and then added more gel.

Blaine held his breath. He went from observing the monitor closely to watching Kurt. Kurt was staring straight up at the ceiling. He clenched his jaw when Blaine gently nudged his arm.

"Alright, guys. I can definitely confirm a pregnancy," she announced. Kurt gasped, his hand darting out to snatch one of Blaine's and grip it tight. Debbie continued excitedly; the sight of Kurt's "birthday present" seemed to liven her up. "You were spot on, Kurt. I'd say you're 8 weeks and 5 days." Kurt's eyes filled with tears. He sniffled, his mouth quivering.

"Is that the—the heart, the pulsing thing?" Blaine asked, leaning across Kurt and pointing at the screen. He nudged Kurt again, surprised that he wouldn't even take a single glimpse at the blurry images on the monitor.

"Certainly is. Do you see it, Kurt?" He turned his head toward her, letting go of Blaine's hand. "Here's the sac, here's the baby... And this flicker? That's the heartbeat. Now, it's too soon for us to hear anything. By your next appointment, you should get to listen in." Debbie paused multiple times to save pictures and print them. "Measurements are within normal range... Placenta is normal and relaxed... Everything looks exactly as it should, guys. Congratulations."

Blaine could see that Kurt's eyes were closed and probably had been for a while. He cleared his throat once the technician was finished cleaning the blue goop off Kurt's stomach. "Thank you, Debbie. Could, uh, could we please have a moment alone?"

"Of course." She handed him several sonogram pictures she had printed out for them. "We're all finished, so come on out when you're done."

He waited until he heard the door click shut behind her. Blaine moved around to where Debbie had been sitting and hunched down. "Hey, you. Open your eyes, Kurt." He held a glossy photo in front of Kurt's pinched face. "I promise you, nothing's wrong or missing."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. This isn't a dream, it's real."

Kurt's eyes slid open and he blinked at Blaine. "You're crying," he stated as he reached to cup Blaine's face. His thumb swept through the wetness on his cheek. Blaine hadn't noticed.

"We've got a baby and it's all normal and healthy in... there. In you. These are happy tears."

Kurt made a sobbing noise. He threw an arm around Blaine, pulling him into a hug. "You probably think I'm being stupid, but I'm not used to things going _right_ in my life. I really thought..."

"Shh. I would never think that. Would you just look at how right this is?" He traced his finger in the shape of a heart around the grainy image of the tiny fetus. Kurt melted against him, mesmerized by the grayish oblong blob. Blaine kissed Kurt on the brow, his chest filling with warmth. "This is all ours, Kurt. We're having a baby."

**[:::][:::][:::]**


	4. Chapter 3

no es bueno, sry

**[:::][:::][:::]**

**Chapter Three**

**[:::][:::][:::]**

Two weeks later, Kurt slept through his alarm again. He woke up slowly, listening to and then singing along with the muffled song flowing out of the iPhone from under his pillow. He scratched his belly, back arched as he yawned his way through the chorus. Kurt tugged at the black sheet twisted around his slim hips. Flipping onto his stomach, he reached for the cellphone.

Today Kurt hadn't planned on heading to the boutique until noon and he'd written out a list of errands to get done in the morning, but _nah_. It was quite simple: he would rather ignore the piles of laundry eating up half his bedroom floorspace for as long as possible... or for however long it would take building maintenance to fix the washing machines in the basement. One was always broken and somebody had once again jammed up the other two by trying to use nickles instead of quarters. He had no desire to head out to a laundromat. Too bad he couldn't afford to have everything dry-cleaned. That boutique wasn't exactly bringing in the big bucks (or little bucks, even).

Kurt hit a button on his phone and found twelve text messages waiting for him. Two were from an old friend who was currently livin' it up in Las Vegas. The first one from him was a generic _long time no type! What's new with you, buddy?_ The second message included a picture of Elliot standing beside Britney Spears and the caption read, "obviously I've been pretty busy." Kurt bit his thumbnail, wanting to reply with a picture of his sonogram and _obviously me too_. In another two weeks, maybe he would. Until then, _zip_.

He had four text messages from the Berry—all her usual complaints about the enormous size of her students' egos and how she had never seen such divas before. "Blaine has the reigns today or else I'd smite them all," her last one stated and managed to pull a chuckle out of Kurt. Rachel made sure to mention Blaine via text at least once a day after Kurt had gotten upset with her for giving Blaine a hard time in the classroom. He'd snapped his fingers at her because there was no way he would let anyone (or continue to let anyone, in Rachel's case) misuse his baby daddy.

The last six messages were from Blaine and each one added more oomph to his smile, from _I still can't stop looking at our sonogram pic_ to _How's the nausea?_ His attentiveness alone had already exceeded Kurt's expectations. Since their ultrasound appointment, the combination of Blaine's positive attitude and eager behavior had washed away the majority of Kurt's concerns. At first, he had been worried about the repetitiveness of Blaine's emphasis on him or them as a "team" (Kurt put a ban on the word 'couple') because they weren't a duo. They were a trio. While _I'm here for you_ had been nice to hear, Kurt reasoned that he could take care of himself. What he needed was for Blaine to want to be there for their child. So far, Blaine seemed very smitten with the unborn life they'd created. It was sweet, his excitement as Kurt started to near the end of his first trimester.

Tears sprung to Kurt's eyes. He'd take the ugly-cry spells over morning sickness any day. He was hesitant to admit it, but Kurt liked the way Blaine made him feel—like he was important. He liked the way Blaine looked at him and smiled at him—like he was special. Like he was _worthy_. Kurt liked the way Blaine would take his hand when he'd let him, the way he'd hold on as if he didn't ever want to let go.

On his own, Blaine had gone to the library and checked out several books on male pregnancy. He was reading any internet articles he could find and sharing anything interesting with Kurt. Blaine was even writing writing down questions for their next appointment with Dr. Samujh. Despite this, Kurt couldn't always relax around him. He wondered about Blaine losing interest in him or the pregnancy too often. All good things must come to an end, he had learned many times.

_Now_ he felt sick.

"Have some faith in me ;)," had been one of Blaine's text messages from the other day. He'd been sending Kurt unusual home remedies for nausea he had found online.

Kurt sighed loudly, responding to Elliot with a text full of exclamation marks. He could only think of one-liner quips for Rachel and on a good day she wouldn't appreciate even his best one, so _hmm_. To send, or not to send: that was the question. He did text Blaine once before dragging his butt out of bed. "Would you judge me if I have a banana split for breakfast?" Kurt meant it as a joke, but he soon craved the idea and in no time...

Due to limited supplies, his stomach settled for banana pancakes smothered in chocolate syrup and buried under roasted walnuts. He had taken whipped cream out of the fridge and rather than using it on the full stack of pancakes in front of him, Kurt sprayed it directly into his mouth. More than once. Like, until there wasn't anything left in the can. With a thin smear of the chocolate sauce on his cheek, he cleared the plate.

The disgusting build-up of dirty dishes in the sink caught his eye and heightened sense of smell. At the risk of running late to work, he washed through them quickly while scolding himself by muttering self-deprecating insults under his breath. Once everything was stacked neatly in the dish rack, Kurt pushed away from the counter and turned around. A burst of dots soared into his peripheral vision and dissolved into a black shroud. It cleared in seconds, but sent him staggering into a kitchen chair that he then knocked over. Bent over awkwardly, he grabbed hold of the tabletop to keep from joining the chair on the floor. His entire body shook as he struggled to pull out another chair and collapse onto it. Kurt held his head in his hands, his stomach feeling unsettled.

He wanted to stay put and catch his breath. The bubbling sensation in his gut, however, demanded he scamper off to the bathroom this instant. Minutes later, he had a new aversion to... _Blech_, bananas. Brushing his teeth vigorously enough to make his gums bleed, Kurt swore off the yellow fruit. No more, none! Never, ever again—during the duration of his pregnancy.

By the time Kurt left his apartment, he guessed he was feeling as close to "normal" as he could get. Not wanting to flare up any nausea with jerky and unsteady motions, he walked to the store instead of taking the bus or subway. On his way there, he stopped for a blueberry and yogurt parfait. He also lingered at a street vendor and bought a bag of popcorn.

Kurt loitered outside of the boutique, his mouth stuffed with popcorn. Using his least greasiest hand, he sent Blaine a text. "Not a good morning," his message read. It took less than a minute for Blaine to reply.

From Blaine: _Did the banana split not agree w/ you?_

To Blaine: _Please don't – bananas are now our enemy and have been blacklisted_

From Blaine: _Noted. How you holding up otherwise?_

Noticing the time, Kurt tucked the phone away into a pocket and entered his store. Blaine didn't need to hear the details about his back-to-back episodes of dizziness and vomiting and Kurt really didn't really feel like sharing them, anyway.

"You're late." Sitting behind the cash register, Kitty filed down her nails. Wrist tipped back and fingers curled, she examined her work.

Purposely/on accident, he spilled popcorn kernels across the countertop in front of her. Kurt waited for the pretty Kitty to snap his name and glare at him before he jutted his bottom lip out and hung his head in faux shame. "You gonna write me up?"

"For the millionth time, Kurt: _Ew_. This whoops-a-daisy pregnancy has turned you into a capital S-L-O-B." She swatted at Kurt with a red sale sign, which she then used to sweep the mess he'd made into a small trashcan that was already overflowing with empty Starbucks cups. Judging by the pair of fingernail clippers and an opened bottle of nail polish remover left in plain sight, she'd had a busy morning. Poor Kitty had it lowercase r-o-u-g-h.

"You know, Miss Wilde. I'm _this close_ to not being able to afford you and I'm not the tiny, tiniest bit upset about that." He wished he were joking. Kurt was an actor; like Sugar, he knew nothing about running a retail business.

Kitty snorted. "Please. Gnarly Marley is gone. I'm all you have and once your Jabba the Hutt transformation is complete, you're going to need me big-time. Funds be damned."

"Huh, a _Star Wars_ reference. From you." He picked up a bottle of nail polish. "'Color Me Surprised,'" he read off the label.

"Geeky boyfriend carryover. It happens."

"Uh-huh, well. If you want to keep this job till everything goes under?" He could feel the shift in his face, the _click_ of the bottle clear as he set it down. "You're going to retire the fat 'jokes' and stop making offensive comments about my pregnancy. My child is not a mistake."

There was a slight lean to Kitty's upper body. "Mama bear pokes her head out, _roar_."

Kurt's jaw ached from clenching. "I'm asking you to find more creative ways to insult me." His unborn baby was off-limits.

"You're not really asking," Kitty pointed out.

"No," he confirmed and willed a smile. He thought it'd feel better to put Kitty in her place. Her eyeroll spoke volumes. "I'm not."

Later, Kurt was marking down clearance items from Sugar's dismal reign when a bony finger tapped him on the shoulder. He heard a deep voice asked, "Excuse me?" right as he was about to snap at Kitty for not staying on her side of the store. "I could really use your help."

He squeaked an, "Oh!" Kurt spun around on his heels and, after drinking in the sight of his tall, dark, and handsome customer, uttered a less pitchy and more breathy, "Oh?"

The man grinned, touching his own cheek as if to point out the adorable dimples that framed his irresistible smile. Yeah, um. Kurt found them on his own, thanks. "I need a present for my sister," he explained in accented English. "She's kind of mad at me, but I don't want an 'apo_lo_gy' gift. It's more of a 'we are for_ever_ related and there's no_thing_ you can do about it' gift."

Distracted by the gentleman's perfect teeth, Kurt had stopped listening after the mention of an angry sister. He clapped his hands together. "I can certainly help you with that."

"Cool. I was hoping you would."

Kurt made a sound that was close to a giggle, his stomach flipping as he was checked out blatantly by the older fellow. Biting his lip, he scanned the shop for Kitty. It seemed as though she had disappeared. He started to ask about a budget when the guy stuck his hand out and introduced himself as, "Rafael."

Rafael's grip was firm, his fingernails buffed from a recent manicure. The slight redness between his sculpted eyebrows told Kurt _somebody_ just got their unibrow waxed. Rafael's gaze trailed down from Kurt's face to his chest; Kurt was certain he was either eyeballing his slammin' pecs through his shirt or looking for a name badge. FYI, Kurt Hummel didn't do nametags. Not since his barista days and he refused to move backwards.

"And you...?"

Letting go of Kurt's hand, Rafael crowded him until all Kurt could smell was the heavy scent of his spicy cologne. Kurt held his breath and thought of Blaine, who'd recently started using fragrance-free products for Kurt's sake. Kurt noticed the other day when he couldn't detect even a hint of Blaine's raspberry-scented hair gel. Honestly, Kurt was touched; Blaine had yet to aggravate his sensitive stomach by wearing too much of something. Still, he'd changed what he used on a daily basis "just in case" _for Kurt_.

He had been at a loss for words. "You didn't have to," he'd eventually said to Blaine.

Blaine had brushed him off with a half smile and told him, "Don't be silly."

_Breathe in through your mouth and out through your nose_. That didn't work, so Kurt became a proud mouth breather. He would bury his entire freakin' head into the ground if he barfed or passed out in front of his hot, _hot_ customer. He'd sell the damned boutique, move across the nation, and then ram his stupid skull through dirt and rocks.

"I'm Kurt," he said on the gentlest exhale he could manage. "Now, on a scale from one to ten: how mad is your sister, exactly?" He perked up and hoped for a ten 'cause _cha-ching_.

Rafael, _oy_. He turned out to be quite the talker. Mr. Chatty-Cathy told Kurt all about his older sister, Luz (Kurt learned she was a local schoolteacher and loved educating young minds._ ..._Okay_?_). Apparently they'd had a "loud, very loud" 'disagreement' over Rafael's sponge of a boyfriend. Now that his gold-digger ex was out of the picture, he hoped to mend fences with Luz and he wanted to do it without an apology. He felt he had every right to get annoyed at her for interfering with his disastrous love life. Or something. That was the gist of his story. Dizzy, Kurt had trouble smiling widely while nodding his head and concentrating at the same time. He needed more oxygen _so_ badly, oh my god.

Kurt made the mistake of asking Rafael about his sister's likes and dislikes in order to just pick something—literally _anything_ out for him to give to her and get his cologne-soaked body out of the small, not-adequately ventilated boutique. That dazzling smile of his, though. _Eh_. His long-winded explanations, though. Kurt was torn between the need to kick him out and a want of bending him over the nearest counter. He showed him to their new line of scarves and slipped a Versace around his neck. He asked about the color of Luz's eyes and didn't expect for Rafael to think the question over.

Rafael finally settled on a totally descriptive, "They're darker than yours?" He winked at Kurt and added, "though not as beautiful."

He was done for. Absolutely done for. Against his will, Kurt's body was enveloped in a heat that'd spread from the fiery pit of his stomach. He snatched a small clearance sign right out of its metal holder and fanned his face with it. He stopped after a few seconds, realizing how ridiculous he must've looked.

Kurt held the sign behind his back, a chuckle dying in his throat. "It's h—hot in here," he reasoned weakly.

Rafael made an interested "mmm" sound. "Muy caliente," he agreed and there was something about his sharp pronunciation and the way he leered at Kurt that had Kurt's heart thumping madly.

Continuing to feel foolish and ready to break out into a sweat, he was able to talk the customer into a scroll pattern scarf (and he was sort of sad to see it go). If he weren't so eager to breathe through his nose, Kurt knew he could've easily convinced Rafael to buy a pair of earrings, too. He showed him to the cash register, still wondering where Kitty had run off to.

"Would you like—?"

"Would I like your phone number? _Yes_." Rafael sighed, relieved. "Yes," he repeated.

Kurt stopped himself from wringing the expensive garment. His smile faltered. "I was going to say gift box."

That didn't slow Rafael down; he went with the flow, anyway. "I'd love to make you dinner sometime." _Sometime soon_, waggled his dark eyebrows. His suggestive tone didn't go unnoticed.

Kurt shook his head, not looking up again as he folded the scarf into a gift box. He blew an excessive amount of rainbow glitter off the pink tissue paper he had covered over the charming _I'm not sorry, but you should be_ present and silently cursed Sugar Motta.

"I eat a lot." 'Some might suggest I eat enough for two' was at the tip of his tongue. He bit it back, secretly amused by the traces of confusion etched into Rafael's features.

He handed over a black credit card to pay for his purchase. "I'll... make extra?"

"I'm not dating right now." Or anytime in the near future, especially once his waistline started expanding. Kurt swiped the card through the boxy credit card terminal.

"Who said anything about a date?" Rafael shushed Kurt before he could open his mouth. He pocketed his returned credit card, then used the receipt he'd just been handed to write down his contact information. He included his Twitter handle. "Shh," he said again when Kurt actually tried to speak up this time. Kurt fired an icy glare at him. "You can take this and you call me when you're ready for some Rafael, yes? I am an excellent _cook_, Kurt. You won't be disappointed." He picked up the gift box, causing more glitter to rain across the counter.

Kurt rolled his eyes. He uttered a "maybe," which fell on Rafael's ears as a _yes_ judging by his pleased smile.

"Cool. Till then." He gave another wink before strolling out of the store.

Kurt let out a groan once the door shut soundly behind his outspoken admirer. Months ago, Rafael might've stood a chance if he hadn't shut Kurt up twice. That did not fly well with Kurt. Paying no attention to the scribbled line of 10 digits, he crumpled up the glossy slip of paper. He hoped Luz enjoyed the $260 scarf 'cause, as read a sign posted high on the wall, **no returns without a receipt!**

"He seemed like a 'no strings attached' kind of guy." Unsurprisingly, Kitty popped her head in from the back now that there weren't any customers around. Her judgmental tone had been laced with irritation. She blew on her pastel pink fingernails, her narrowed eyes focused on Kurt. He threw the wrinkled receipt into the trash. It slid off an upturned plastic cup and fell to the floor. "You're not going to call him?"

Kurt pulled a face—his physical response to her surprised reaction. "Who, Mr. 'Cool'? Of course not."

"You didn't get him to back off by mentioning your..." She nodded her chin, drawing Kurt's attention down to the hand he had placed low on his belly.

He clipped out another, "Of course not." It wasn't any of that customer's business, he told her. Kitty cocked her head, frowning as if she didn't believe him.

"But he was smokin' hot and loaded, Kurt." Her sudden smile wasn't a kind one. "I thought your hormones would've been all over that, sniffing out the goods."

Kurt's paling face remained contorted into a confused grimace. Thanks to some "friends" he'd grown up with, he had long gotten used to wisecracks being made at his expense. This was different. She was accusing him of something. "Kitty, stop. I'm not going to do... that."

Her expression cooled and she flicked up an eyebrow. "You're not going to do "that" _again_, you mean?"

He scoffed in disbelief, slapping a hand down onto the counter. A rush of anger sent a ripple through his vision. "Are you slut-shaming me?"

Kitty half-shrugged like eh, maybe. "I don't blame you for wanting to do better than Blaine. He's been stopping by here every day lately and he is such a major dork. Like, a total bozo. You need a man. I get it, it's not like you're dating a mature college student. You're dating—" Ears probably ringing, Blaine bounced merrily into the shoppe. He was drinking out of a juice box. "That."

"Shh," Kurt hissed. He paused to do a double-take at the juice box. Nice timing, B. "And we're not dating." She'd known previously they definitely weren't an item. He didn't know when or, more importantly, why Kitty started to think otherwise.

She appeared genuinely shocked by this tidbit of non-news. "You're not? But... like, but?"

"But what?" he demanded to know as Blaine greeted them with his usual perky smile.

"Hey, guys. What's going—?" He had to have noticed the tension between them, in the lines of their bodies. He looked to Kurt for an answer, effectively ignoring Kitty and her unsheathed claws. "...On?"

Kurt glanced in Blaine's direction. "Kitty was just leaving." He would rather do that, leave. She and Rafael had sucked the life out of him. At least his bed wasn't hypercritical of him. That's where he wanted to be, cocooned in blankets; tucked away from the poison that was Kitty Wilde.

She stared at him for a few beats. "What now?" she asked, her delivery wooden.

"Come on, Kit. You don't want to work for a giant slut, do you?"

"Whoa!" Blaine tried to interject. Kurt could feel the cool weight of Blaine's fingers encircling his wrist. Kitty talked over him, pissed off.

"You're firing me for speaking my mind? I—"

Kurt waited patiently for his turn to interrupt her. "I'm firing you for being a bitch."

She darted forward. Blaine copied her movement, slipping in between them. Kitty and Kurt engaged in a staredown over Blaine's shoulder. "I was only being a bitch," she snapped, "because I thought you were sleeping around on _Blozo_ over here."

"'Blozo'?" Blaine jutted his chin out. He asked again, "What is going on?"

Kurt put a steady hand on Blaine's arm—_not now_. "You're not as irreplaceable as you think," he told her coldly. And _Christ_, Kitty. Hadn't she learned her lesson on making assumptions?

Kitty didn't fire back a response right away. She nodded slowly to herself. "You know what? Fine, whatever. I'm tired of putting up with your grossness, anyway. That thing you do, like, daily? The stuffing of your face, then puking up a storm in the restroom we share—and then porking out again immediately freakin' after? Yeah, I can't deal with that anymore. I liked you better when I thought you were on drugs."

(Blaine frowned and mouthed, "Drugs?")

She was tired of putting up with him? Kurt almost laughed. Strange how only an hour and a half ago, he thought he'd knocked her cockiness down a peg. Her constant insults weren't going anywhere. She wasn't going to change, so Kurt needed to make a change.

Kitty hammed up her exit by blessing Kurt in jest, her clutch in one hand and the bottle of nail polish in the other.

"I've never liked the way she's talked to you," Blaine later confessed over frozen hot chocolate. He'd run out for the treats as a surprise, something to distract Kurt from his boutique drama and maybe cheer him up a bit. He would've gotten cake, but they had indulged in that the other night. "I didn't want to overstep, so I tried to just... ignore her, which has not been easy."

Kurt sucked a glob of half-melted whipped cream off his finger. "'Overstep'?"

"You're the boss, Kurt." Only momentarily, Blaine's gaze fell from Kurt's eyes to his lips.

He smiled around the sticky tip of his finger. "I am," he agreed. "I'm the boss."

"Speaking of overstepping." Blaine wiped daintily at his mouth with a paper napkin. "Can I ask about what Kitty was talking about?"

Kurt hitched his rounded shoulders up into a shrug. "Don't worry about it?" he suggested and then sighed, sneaking a glance at Blaine. "Some guy hit me up for sex and I didn't exactly say no to his face." Unpredictability had been the reason Rafael didn't receive the tongue-lashing he'd deserved for shushing Kurt. He didn't need to piss off a strange man at his everyday job.

"Oh." Blaine must've willed his face to grow vague. Kurt could see he was trying hard not to visibly react. "Does that happen... a lot?" he asked, chewing too roughly on his straw. An amused snort from Kurt had him snapping his head to the side. "I didn't," he stammered through a startled laugh. "I did _not_ 'hit you up f—for sex.'"

"_You_ didn't exactly say no," Kurt recalled with false pensiveness.

Blaine bowed his head away from Kurt, his grin as bright as his cheeks. "If my memory serves me correctly, which it does because one of us is very much pregnant, neither did _you_."

_Of course I didn't_, Kurt almost said to him. _Have you seen you?_ Perhaps now wasn't the time to get flirty. Frowning to himself, he leaned into the edge of the table.

"For the record," he mumbled softly. "Despite what Kitty thinks and is probably going to tell everyone we both know within a ten mile radius of New York City, that night you and I... you were my—_first_ since Adam." His half-lidded gaze shot up when a hand settled over his own.

"Even if I wasn't, Kurt? It's not any of my business and I'm not here to judge you, anyway. Friends don't do that."

Kurt turned away this time, his smile heavy with a shyness that confused him. He sipped on his frozen drink. "Mmm." He smacked his lips together. "I like this."

Blaine straightened on the stool. "I could do this again tomorrow on my lunch break," he offered as if he weren't already stopping in every day (to Kitty's disgust) with treats. Yesterday he'd brought over a half-dozen fresh cronuts and (again, to Kitty's disgust) they had scarfed them down together.

"Only if you want to and only if you keep consuming all these calories with me." Kurt playfully knocked the the side of his knee into Blaine's. "If you never gained those freshman fifteen, you're definitely going to now."

Blaine didn't seem to mind. Unlike Kurt, he finished up his overloaded serving of frozen hot chocolate. Since his last class of the day had been canceled, he stayed at the boutique and continually asked Kurt what he needed done.

"You're sweet, Blaine, appreciatively so." Kurt smiled as Blaine put on a show of preening at the compliment. "But you don't work here."

"I could." He put a new liner into the trashcan kept near the cash register. Blaine had recycled what he could and then he'd thrown out the week-old garbage. "You don't have any employees left and I'm super cheap. Like, you don't have to pay me."

Kurt wondered if Blaine was a _real_ person. "No."

"I'm free most nights during the week and weekends."

Maybe their baby would be an alien-human hybrid. "No."

"Think about it, then?" Blaine used a mango-scented hand sanitizer that'd been left out before he came up to Kurt and stroked his fingers down Kurt's bare forearm. Goosebumps rose under his featherlight touch. Kurt tried not to sway on his feet. "Let me help out, please? I promise not to burst into song more than three times a week."

"You are too..." Cute, wonderful? Perfect? _Unreal_. Shaking his head, Kurt plucked at the ribbed sleeve of Blaine's polo shirt. It hugged Blaine's bicep quite nicely and he would've had to been blind not to notice. He scrunched his face up, an eye peeked open. "I don't know. I will, I'll think about it." His second maybe of the day.

Blaine's hand hopped from Kurt's wrist to his waist, fingers splayed. "Thank you for your consideration," he said. "I'm going to throw in one more please: please keep me in mind, Kurt. I'm all yours. I'd rather help out here than someplace else." He noted, however, that he happened to be a "very understanding individual" if Kurt denied him the "absolute honor" of working beside him.

"You're all mine?" Kurt teased, tempted to mirror Blaine's handsy-ness.

"All yours," Blaine confirmed huskily and all of Kurt's cockiness rushed out of him at once.

He could've kissed Blaine then, naturally. He wanted to surge forward and grab that beautiful face, to kiss him hard on the mouth. He didn't. Swallowing back a knot of disappointment that refused to be ignored, he maintained strained eye contact with Blaine until his hand dropped off Kurt's tense body.

Blaine's careful eyes asked a question that Kurt put a stop to by raising his hand in a _don't_ fashion.

His voice brittle as he excused himself, Kurt disappeared into the restroom. He ran cold water on full blast and washed his hands over and over again. He did feel a speck of pride for managing not to shed any tears. "These _stupid_ hormones," he snapped.

He repeated the same three words with the exact inflection to Blaine minutes later. Blaine had been holding a bowtie up to his beck and dropped it when Kurt had shuffled out of the bathroom. He grudged up an apologetic smile. It shifted into a pout-y sneer. Too bad he was supposed to look unapproachable and not like a toddler who missed a nap.

"I'm in a bad mood," he warned and sounded miserable.

Blaine marched up to him and bent over to speak sternly into Kurt's navel. "Baby, _what_ are you doing in there?"

"No, don't." Kurt held a fist over his heart, his mouth pressed into a tight-lipped smile. "Don't do that, don't be cute."

"'Don't be cute,'" Blaine pretended to ponder, tapping a finger on his chin. "Uh-oh, wee one. An important lesson, so listen here—a leopard cannot change its spots."

"Utter 'wee one' into my crotch again and I'm going to make you see spots."

Blaine's booming laugh weakened Kurt's solemn expression. He rose from stooping. "Hey, I read that it's only going to be about a month before he or she can actually hear us." _Hey, I read that..._ was Blaine's unofficial catchphrase.

"'Only,'" Kurt echoed tonelessly. The second he'd gotten that phone call from his family doctor confirming his pregnancy, time had started to slow down. It continued to drag its feet.

"I know. It feels like forever, right? It's really just around the corner."

Ready to snap, Kurt caught himself. _I'm not a child, Blaine. I _do_ have a concept of time_. He sucked his bottom lip in-between his teeth and then stuck it out. "It isn't," he declared stubbornly.

Blaine nodded, a little glum. "It isn't," he agreed.

Silence hung between them, their impatience over becoming parents shared in timid smiles.

[:::][:::][:::]

On the morning of the first day of Kurt's second trimester, Blaine showed up at his apartment with three balloons, two coffees and one strawberry cheesecake from their favorite bakery. Kurt answered the door in a white tee and rumpled pajama bottoms, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Sleep lines were visible on one side of his face.

"Surprise!" Blaine handed him the balloons, one yellow and the other two a bright red. He pecked a kiss to Kurt's cheek and then brushed past him, heading toward the kitchen. "The coffees are going to need to get reheated. I got them before I picked up the cheesecake. I know it's early. I just really wanted to get your day off to a really, really good start."

Toothpaste foam dribbled down Kurt's chin. He followed after Blaine, his stomach already rumbling for a taste of that heavenly dessert. "And you really thought you could accomplish that with balloons, really?" Blaine opened the door to the refrigerator and Kurt stared at his backside as he rummaged through the shelves to make room for the pink box of cheesecake.

"What's with all the pickle relish?" Blaine paused and then glanced over his shoulder. "Wait, you don't like the balloons?" he asked, having misread the wry amusement in Kurt's voice. "They're to celebrate our second trimester."

"Our, our second trimester? I'm pregnant, Blaine. We're not pregnant, I am. Me." He came up behind Blaine and poked him in the back with his toothbrush. "And don't you mind the relish." An intense craving and a '10 bottles of dill relish for $10' sale had resulted in an impulse buy. A _delicious_ impulse buy.

Blaine let out such a long, heavy sigh that two seconds passed where Kurt thought his sarcasm had struck a nerve. "They're to celebrate _your_ second trimester," Blaine corrected himself. He motioned for Kurt to hand him the cheesecake. "How's it feel?"

Lifting the lid up, Kurt stole a fat strawberry off the top before he gave Blaine the box. "You didn't have to do this." He interrupted Blaine from being all _of course I did, Kurt_ and _you deserve it, Kurt_. Sometimes, he could already read him like a book. "I'm saying you've set high standards for the third trimester."

"Don't worry, I think I can outdo this."

Kurt rinsed his minty-fresh mouth out at the sink. He picked the cups of lukewarm coffee up and brought them over to the microwave. "I'm going to cook you dinner tonight." He liked the idea of making (or, more likely, ordering) Blaine supper as a thank you for his thoughtfulness. They could have the cheesecake for dessert, although Kurt was definitely cutting out a large slice and bringing it to work for lunch. Or a mid-morning snack. He bit into the fresh strawberry he'd put aside.

"Oh! That sounds—"

He looked back curiously at Blaine, whose excitement had died in his throat and his face was now frozen in a distressed grimace.

"Um, I kind of already have plans." He kneaded the nape of his neck. "With my roommate," Blaine elaborated even though Kurt hadn't asked. "I'm sorry, I stupidly agreed to a night out 'cause he said he never sees me anymore and that was sort of touching. He was like 'we need to bond,' but I realize now it's more likely he meant 'we need to get bombed' and I should never have agreed to that and I, I'm stupid. I am _so_ sorry."

"Blaine, calm down. It's—"

"You know what? I don't care. I'm going to cancel."

"_Blaine_, it's fine. Go out with your friend."

"But that's the thing," he huffed. At the peak of his rambling, he'd gotten animated with his hands. Kurt had thought that'd been adorable. Rather than start up on gesturing madly again, Blaine slumped his shoulders. "We are not friends. He's barely a roommate. He tried to pay his half of last month's rent in beer tokens."

"Go," Kurt insisted. "Take a rain check. I'm not going anywhere. Carole and I have a Skype date, anyway." If Blaine were to stay, then Carole would want Kurt to introduce them. He wasn't ready for that, not after Carole's recent winking episode while she had commented about how much time he and Blaine were spending together.

Blaine clicked his tongue and let out a heartfelt, "Aw." Kurt wasn't expecting Blaine to pull him into a hug. He pressed another quick kiss to Kurt's cheek. "A least I know where I'd rather be," he said into Kurt's ear.

"That's the second time you've done that," Kurt remarked. He raised his fingers to touch them over his cheek.

"Oh, god." Blaine's own cheeks blanched, his eyes widened comically. "Is that not okay? I figured kissing you on the cheek was alright since I put a baby in you, so it wasn't crossing the line or—or anything?"

_Put a baby in you_. Kurt dissolved into laughter. He covered his mouth and mumbled through his fingers, "It's okay as long as you never use that phrase again." Blaine nodded, all serious until Kurt snickered and nearly lost it again. "You **helped** put a baby in me. Look at you, giving yourself all the credit."

He scoffed. "I would never. You, your body is—what your body can do is amazing."

Swallowing a response, Kurt moistened his lips. He felt hot and tingly all over, his mind conjuring up something special. He pictured it easily, Blaine cradling Kurt's head between his palms. Blaine panting, moaning; crushing their mouths together. His hips grinding against Blaine's, desperate for release.

"Yeah," he croaked. "Yeah. Wow, the time. I've got to, to shower. Get ready. Thank you for, uh. Yeah, thank you."

Blaine watched Kurt's face carefully. "Are you okay? You seem a little—" Not needing his flustered state pointed out, Kurt surged forward and smacked a kiss to Blaine's cheek. He brushed a curled finger under Blaine's chin.

"Don't forget your coffee," he drawled.

There was a knowing gleam in Blaine's eyes that shone in his broad smile.

Kurt neither spared a good-bye nor did he wait for Blaine to leave the apartment before he took off to the bathroom. He turned the hot and cold water knobs to run a shower, his grip unsteady. Fully dressed, he stayed on the outer side of the tub as he clutched at the shower curtain. It'd been tough fighting an urge fueled by hormones. This pregnancy wasn't joking around.

He spent most of the day in a daze... a grumpy daze. Kurt had forgotten his non-fat mocha in the microwave and he hadn't remembered to pack any celebratory cheesecake with his lunch. Oh, and then he'd left said lunch on the counter in the kitchen. Still, every so often? Kurt would smile to himself, thinking about Blaine and his balloons.

It took him until the early afternoon to admit he needed an extra set of hands. The thought of working long days by himself six days a week was excruciating and made Kurt not look forward to being there, in his own retail shoppe. It was boring. He threw on a pair of sunglasses and a headscarf and sent Blaine more than a few selfies. He picked his favorite and attached it in a _you continue to miss out on my fabulousness_ text message to Elliot.

Kurt used his lunch break to pay bills. He sat at the desk in his office, swimming in a stormy sea of dollar signs and little numbers. His pair of Cheaters perched low on his nose, he punched at buttons on a calculator. Chewing on Tums tablets, he wrote a reminder for himself on a Post-it note to figure out ways to use less electricity. The light bill for the shop was ridiculous.

Since business was slow, he closed up early. Kurt picked up dinner from a pizzeria across from his apartment building. Once home, he threw out the leftovers he had left out in the kitchen. TV turned on and pants unbuttoned, he dug into the tray of pizza. He fell asleep on the couch before he'd finished his first slice, a spot of bland tomato sauce painting the corner of his mouth.

He woke up from a short nap and started munching on some cold pizza as if he hadn't dozed off. He eventually wrapped the rest in tinfoil and put it away into the fridge. He tapped the corner of the box of cheesecake with a finger. _Soon you will be mine_, he promised. Kurt then pulled off his shirt and changed into shorts. He hopped on his treadmill, which literally took up half of his "living room." Halfway through his second mile, someone knocked at the door.

Knowing it couldn't be Rachel because she'd taken off to LA for the weekend, he was still surprised to find out his evening visitor was Blaine.

Blaine rushed out an, "I'm sorry," and his voice wavered as he asked, "Do you think I could crash on your couch tonight?"

Kurt noticed the slight redness to Blaine's eyes. "Of course."

He didn't move. "I got into an argument with Puck," Blaine explained dully. "And I, I'm _so_ aggravated over _so_ much. I need a break from him."

"Hey? It's okay." Kurt tilted his head and then nodded it to the side. "Honey, come in."

He gestured for Blaine to make himself at home. Kurt slipped back into a t-shirt and then hurried into the kitchen.

"Where are the strawberries?" Blaine asked, teasing Kurt after he'd brought out two enormous slices of seemingly plain cheesecake.

"Oh, they fell. Into my mouth."

Blaine bit his lip, smiling. He lightly dipped the tip of his fork in and out of the dessert. "Thank you for... this. Your kindness. I should've taken you up on that dinner offer."

"Mmm, yeah. You look like you need to let out a good rant." Kurt sat down heavily beside Blaine on the couch and sagged against him. He swallowed a mouthful of cheesecake. "Out with it. My mouth may be full, but I have two opened ears."

"No, no. You don't want to hear me whine."

"No, no. I do." He clanged his fork against Blaine's in an attempt to get him to eat the cheesecake and not mash it. "Hey, you're the one who appointed us BFF."

"And you're the one who's still rolling his eyes when he says 'BFF.'"

"You weren't even looking at me!"

"I could hear it in your voice."

He pointedly rolled his eyes again, the motion exaggerated. Kurt smiled to himself; he relaxed, content as he noticed Blaine doing the same. Continuing to eat small bites of food off a dinner plate, he gave Blaine a chance to find his words.

It took time for Blaine to heave out a sigh, his eyebrows lowered. "I'm tired of people going ahead and doing what they think are 'favors' without my consent or even m—my knowledge." Abandoning the messy fork, a hand flew up to his face. His shaky fingers halted in the air, poised as if ready to pinch at his nose.

Mouth snapping shut, Kurt accidentally pressed a forkful of cheesecake into the seam of his lips. Not including a panicked _oh god_, his first thought had been _what did I do?_ His eyes followed the erratic movement of Blaine's hand before it dropped down to rest on Kurt's knee. He scolded himself, mentally hissing _not everything is about you_.

"Did you know Rachel originally rejected me as her TA? She said I didn't 'look the part.' But then she just suddenly changed her mind. Turns out, my brother **lied** to her by promising Rachel a movie role if she reconsidered my application. So she's pissed at me because of our 'indecent deed of procreation' _and_ because my brother is Cooper Anderson."

Kurt sat up. "Your brother is Cooper Anderson?"

Blaine side-eyed him hard and ignored Kurt's gasped inquiry. "He never said anything about it. Not a single word, Kurt. I had no idea till Rachel told me." He leaned forward to set the plate in his hand down on the coffee table. "Gosh, and Sam? He very casually mentioned that he'd invited Puck to move in right before he announced he was moving out. Yeah, he let me in on all that as it was happening. Like, I came home and there were boxes everywhere. No warning, just: _oh, hey? I'm gone and here's your new roommate_.

"I barely knew Puck. I still barely know him. Yet he feels **he** knows **me** well enough to set me up on blind dates! That's what tonight was all about. I got to the bar and he ushered me over to a table where some guy in way too much eyeliner was sitting, then he introduced us and walked away. Who does he think he is? And what does it say about me that I have so many people in my life making decisions for me? I didn't need Cooper's help, I didn't need Sam to replace himself with someone else, and I definitely don't need Puck deciding who and when I should date."

Blaine had stood up mid-tirade and now his back was turned to Kurt. He sniffed, giving a self-critical laugh. His folded arms were tucked against his chest. Behind him, Kurt blinked his eyes slowly. Caught off-guard by the rising anger in Blaine's outburst, a knot of sympathy twisted in his gut. Kurt interrupted Blaine for interrupting him during his attempt to gently state Blaine's name.

"Thank you," he said and made sure to stress out the syllables over Blaine's unnecessary apology, "for ending up here tonight. Sure, I wasn't your first choice—" Success! He flashed a small grin at Blaine, thrilled with himself for getting him to whirl around all panicked with a _but?_ on his lips. "I'm teasing you, Blaine. If anything, it means a lot to me that you chose to come here. It makes me feel comfortable that you feel comfortable sharing that part of your life with me. It sounds like your brother and friends really care about you. That's not a bad thing, but you need to tell them when they're crossing the line. Without yelling. Snarling isn't a good look on anyone.

"Also: my couch is not a bed. I have an air mattress you may blow up, but obviously stuff's going to need to get moved to make room. I have no idea how I'm going to fit in here once I'm nine months gone." During their last conversation, Kurt had grumbled to his patient step-mom about his sure assumptions on him constantly knocking crap over once he grew out his pregnant belly. Carole had (jokingly, right?) asked him if he wanted to borrow the reacher she'd gotten when she had her partial knee replacements done. "Right, so please channel what's left of your pent-up frustration into energy and get on that. Start with this." He used his sneaker-clad foot to point at the coffee table.

There was a pause and then Blaine asked, "You're not going to help?"

"Nope. I'm just going to sit here lookin' pretty and supervise."

"Yeah, 'supervise' the rest of your cheesecake and mine."

Kurt looked up, smirking and saw Blaine gazing down at him fondly. He set aside his half-eaten dessert and rose to his feet. He almost hesitated, shyness sinking in as he gestured for Blaine to come near him. Blaine seemed reluctant himself, only until Kurt tugged on his arm and pulled him into a hug.

"I can't believe your brother is Cooper Anderson."

Blaine groaned Kurt's name.

Kurt stopped smiling. "You can, you know. Date." Blaine stiffened and they both took a step back. "Was your secret blind date at least cute?" He forced his mouth into an upward curve and he knew Blaine could tell it was strained.

"I—I don't? I don't want to..." Blaine shook his head, a hand cupped to the back of his neck. "It doesn't matter. Dating isn't a priority for me right now, Kurt. My education and this baby is all I care about." He pressed his lips together. "And you," he added quietly.

"I'm just saying, if you wanted to? You could still have fun." Kurt stared down, not noticing Blaine also looking off to the side. Their eyes found each others' and then bounced away again. "And I could, too."

Blaine tried to shake his head and nod it at the same time. He stopped Kurt from saying anything else with a sharp, "Okay." He turned his head and repeated a softer, "Okay." Clapping his hands, he asked about the whereabouts of Kurt's air mattress.

No words were exchanged as Kurt helped him clear out space in the middle of his living room for the twin-sized airbed. He brought out clean sheets from the linen closet in the bathroom. Accepting them and a pillow, Blaine wished him a good night. In a silent response, Kurt let his hand linger over Blaine's.

It wasn't until he was comfortable in bed when Kurt picked up his half-dead cellphone and sent Blaine a text message.

To Blaine: _Come ON, is your brother REALLY Cooper Anderson?_

Another groan from Blaine had Kurt smiling into his pillow.

[:::][:::][:::]

Kurt couldn't button his jeans closed. Face flushed and teeth bared, he dove into denial. He tried lying flat on his back in bed, hips lifting off the mattress as he sucked his gut in and held his breath. After a zany struggle that nearly ended with him falling off his bed, he was forced to peel them off and pull on another pair. He succeeded on the third attempt, although barely. It'd taken a mixture of concentration and strength to button the pants, but the zipper wouldn't stay up and his stomach bulged over the waistband. He'd have to find a very loose-fitting top to wear with them. Unfortunately, it was too warm outside for layering.

He took his iPhone off its charger and called Rachel. It surprised him when she answered on the first ring. Pouting, Kurt sighed out her name. "It seems my clothes have shrunk on me. I'm not sure I can sit down without busting a seam." He brought up their lunch date for that afternoon and hoped she wouldn't mind if he postponed it for a shopping spree.

"Kurt? I, I already canceled our reservations. I assumed—" Rachel cut herself off. She tried again, speaking slowly. "I assumed you'd want to be with Blaine."

"Oh." Head turned, Kurt eyed the reflection of his backside in the full-length mirror situated in the corner of his bedroom. He pressed his tongue into the inside of his cheek. "How passive-aggressive of you."

Rachel was quiet. She echoed his _oh_. "I take it Blaine's okay, then? He had everyone worried. Carmen Tibideaux said she was going to glue a nonslip mat on top of every piano in NYADA for him."

Kurt inhaled sharply, the room tilting. His hand shot to the front of his belly where the button on his pants had just popped open. "Wh—what are you talking about?"

"Oh, my god. Kurt. You don't know. I'm so sorry, I? I thought he—someone would've gotten in touch with you by now!"

"Rachel, _shut up_ and tell me what happened."

Rachel's voice sounded muffled as she whispered something to someone. "He was rushed to the hospital this morning. He slipped during his rehearsal for the summer showcase and hit his head."

His legs were ready to give out on him. Kurt sat down on the edge of his bed. "What do you mean 'hit his head'? Was there blood, did he lose consciousness? Was an ambulance called or—or... Why hasn't anyone called me, Rachel?"

"Honey," she said in a condescendingly sweet tone, "I think you need to calm down."

"'Calm down'?" he spat. "You expect me to—?" His cellphone vibrated in his hand, signaling an incoming call from Blaine's phone. He hung up on Rachel immediately to answer it. He closed his eyes and prayed to a God he didn't believe in. "Blaine?"

[:::][:::][:::]

When he arrived at Blaine's apartment, Kurt didn't pause to knock. His hand found the doorknob and, twisting it, he invited himself in. He heard Blaine's voice, but didn't catch a word he said. Kurt rushed to him, not liking the glossiness of his eyes or the navy blue sling Blaine wore for his right arm. The exaggerated crinkle of Blaine's face as he smiled had Kurt tearing up.

"You're flying high." He knew his own smile didn't ring true. Concern hadn't stopped rattling through him since he'd talked to Rachel over the phone.

"_So_ high," Blaine slurred and then giggled. He held out his good arm. "Come here, you."

Kurt stared at him. "I don't want to—"

"Hug me?"

"Hurt you."

Blaine shook his head as he dismissed Kurt's reluctance with a flick of his hand. Embracing Kurt in a delicate one-armed hug, he mumbled an apology into his neck. Kurt shivered under the innocent press of Blaine's mouth. "I didn't want to worry you. Stress bad."

"Stress bad," Kurt agreed. Blaine had already explained that he'd wanted to wait till he got home from the Emergency Department to tell Kurt about his 'minor spill' off a grand piano. Apparently he'd lost his cellphone in the cushions of his sofa and his Vicodin-laden self had fallen asleep while looking for it. "Painkillers good?" Blaine responded with a soft snort. "Okay, you're going to have to let go. My pants are falling down."

Blaine's breath fanned warm over Kurt's skin. "Is this a dream, am I hallucinating?"

"I couldn't button them so I had to use a safety pin." Blaine broke away to cradle a curious palm to Kurt's stomach. "Not so flat anymore, huh? You're feeling up a fat roll."

"Don't say that," Blaine huffed. "You have a baby roll and it's adorable." He offered, "I can get you a belt?"

"I'd rather a rolling pin," Kurt muttered darkly. He touched a fingertip to the rough edge of the sling's thick strap. "Never mind me. How are you holding up, mister?"

"Never mind _me_. The x-ray was clean. The doctor told me to only wear this for a few days, give my shoulder a rest." He took Kurt's hand. "And my head is fine. No concussion, not even a bump or a bruise."

Kurt laced their fingers together, his chin wobbling. He could feel the wetness of tears at his eyes. He wiped at him, sniffling. "I..." Anger set in. "I can't believe you fell off a freakin' piano, Blaine!"

Appearing slightly frightened of Kurt, Blaine stammered his umpteenth apology. Still holding Kurt's hand, he led him over to the couch. "I truly feel horrible. I should've—whoa, sorry. Dizzy."

Sitting down, Kurt picked up a maroon throw pillow and hugged it loosely to his chest. "Now I 'truly feel horrible.' I shouldn't have just snapped at you while you're all loopy and hurt. Can I get you anything? Have you eaten?"

Blaine prodded at the pillow in Kurt's lap. "I don't like this. What are you hiding under here?"

"Stop. You know what I'm hiding under here. Hey!" Legs folded under him, Blaine pulled the pillow away and let go of it. He splayed his fingers across the little swell of Kurt's belly. The safety pin had given up and now his pants were undone. "And what do you think you're doing?"

Blaine dipped down, tugging at the curved hem of Kurt's t-shirt till a line of pale skin was visible. He wet his lips and then brought them down for a kiss. "That," he whispered. He tilted his face up. "Please, Kurt. Can I—?"

He didn't want to hear Blaine's question. "No," he answered shortly.

The sound of Blaine's apartment door creaking open and then shut echoed through the room, startling them both.

"Yo, Blaine?" A blonde guy Kurt had never seen before shuffled in from the other room. "There was a super crazy long line at that soup place so I got Chinese from... Oh, you have company."

Blaine's face hardened into a scowl. He covered up what little of Kurt's stomach he had revealed. Standing up, Kurt pushed his hand away gently. He pulled down on his shirt to conceal his unfastened pants.

"Sam, this is—"

"Kurt?" Sam guessed, squinting a bit too intently at Kurt's torso.

Sam. Blaine's ex-boyfriend. Great. There went Kurt's plans to invite Blaine to stay with him for a night or two. With an arm out of commission, he'd need any help he could get. Yeah, and apparently he'd be getting it from Sam.

At least he noticed Sam's gawking. "Sam," Blaine snapped through his teeth.

Sam grinned sheepishly. "What? Right. Sorry. Nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm just gonna leave? Yeah, leave you two alone."

Kurt had to get out of there. The awkwardness was making him nauseous (although that could've been due to the smell coming from the greasy bag in Sam's hands) and he couldn't shake off a flustered feeling. "No, that's alright. I'm... late. For a date. With Rachel. Then... you know, the shop. If I'm not there, I'm not making any money." He stumbled over a chuckle. "I'll call you later?"

Blaine didn't try to hide his disappointment. "You can't stay a while longer?"

"I didn't know you—" Kurt bit his lip and shook his head, his eyes bouncing around nervously. He spared another glance in Sam's direction. Never mind that. He reached out to touch Blaine's good arm and moved in for a good-bye hug. Rather than embrace him, he kissed Blaine's lips. It was a quick, soft kiss he hadn't meant to give. "I'll call you later."

Blaine seemed more relieved over the kiss than shocked. He smiled faintly. "You will. And Kurt?"

Stepping past Sam, Kurt froze.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want a belt?"

He rolled his eyes, hitched up his pants, and kept walking.

[:::][:::][:::]


End file.
